Enter: Ten Tales for Tweens - Fantastic Short Stories for Middle Grade Readers

by MJ Ware

  Misty stepped forward and looked down at the huge pit. "Who would blow up the bridge? What do we do now, swim across?"

  "There's no way I'd take on Bear River. Not this time of year."

  "Our families could be over there. Let's find a raft or a boat," Misty said.

  "Remember those outta towners who plopped in, one after another, trying to save each other?" Bear River swells all up with crazy currents and hardcore eddies every year. "That river's gulped down entire families. Let's just wave someone down and they'll get help." I stood on a pile of rubble, looking across.

  "No one's there," Misty whispered.

  We didn't say another word. We just stared across the bridge.

  We stood there awhile longer. Still, no one showed: not at the bridge, not in the town, no cars driving by, nothing.

  Finally, after standing there silent, just staring for what seemed hours, I lost it.

  "I knew we should've come here before going to your house. I knew it!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, hands raised like one of those cheesy TV preachers. "You know what the other explosion was, don't you? It had to be the other dam bridge. They've blown both bridges—we're trapped. Just you, me and that stupid little dog—no, wait—he's dead, how could I forget we saw his—"

  Tears flowed. I'd only seen Misty cry one other time. Even when we were kids and she fell off her bike, she'd just shake it off.

  She stood there, face in her hands, tender tears trickling down her cheeks. I thought, this might have been the worst thing I'd ever done.

  There was only one thing I could think to do. I gave her a hug. In all the years I'd known Misty, I'd never hugged her. Sure, I'd tackled her a few times, but that's just not the same.

  She felt a lot softer than I remembered. Maybe she was getting out of shape now that she wasn't playing dodgeball.

  It felt weird, like, well, like hugging your best friend. I wanted to tell her it would be all right. That we'd see our parents again, but I was never a good liar.

  She started wiping her cheeks. I quickly let go and took a couple steps back. "Um, maybe we should try hollering. See if we can get someone's attention? There still might be someone over there."

  "If there was, they would have certainly heard your yelling."

  "Yeah, about that—I'm really sorry. This is totally not your fault. I'm really, really sorry." I always messed things up. No wonder Misty hadn't been hanging around me. Sometimes, I don't even like to hang around me.

  "Sorry, seems to be a theme with you today. But I'm cutting you some slack, remember?" A small smile slipped out and made me feel a little less like the world's biggest jerk. "So now what?"

  The sun beat down on us, as if it’d been glued in place. The air felt stale and lifeless. "No use going to Greenburg if no one's over there. Let's go to Cedar Creek, see if the other bridge is really blown."

  Sure enough, the Cedar Creek dry dam was completely gone. Crossing the creek would have been easy, but there's nothing except asphalt and trees between here and Chico. Which is, I don't know, at least a week's walk.

  "We could take bikes," Misty suggested.

  "No. It's all mountain roads, we wouldn't last an hour."

  Drained, dog-tired, and defeated, we headed to Misty's house to regroup. It'd been one fantastically horrible day.

  "I can't believe you tried to blame me for the bridge blowing up," she said.

  "I didn't say it was your fault; I was just blaming you. There's a big difference."

  Misty shook her head. My legs ached and my conscience stung. I didn't have it in me to argue—especially since I was wrong.

  We both dragged our feet across the asphalt. The rough sound reminded me of a street sweeper.

  "We've gotta get a car. I can't walk around this town anymore." I was still wearing my backpack. Misty had left hers at home.

  "Everyone takes their keys when they evacuate," she said as we passed a house with a TV lounging comfortably in the middle of the lawn.

  "Who said they evacuated? Maybe they had all the water extracted from their bodies and they turned to salt. Maybe there was a huge sale at the mall up in—hey, do you see that?"

  She had. "Hey mister! Over here, please help!" With her long, perfect hair, Misty could have passed for a cheerleader as she waved her arms up and down.

  The glare of the low sun made it hard to see the man caught in the shadows. He was old, shuffling his feet with a slight limp. He turned and slowly started towards us. The only thing I could see was that it wasn't the mayor; this guy was too tall and wasn't shaped like a blimp.

  We started jogging towards him. "Oh, thank you. We really need some hel—"

  When I turned back to look at Misty, I realized something was wrong.

  Very wrong.

  Chapter 4 – Zombie Snot

  Misty stopped first. I took a couple more steps before turning to face her. "Come on."

  I'd seen that look in her eyes twice today. Instantly, knots welled up in my stomach. "Miss, what's up?"

  "Aaahh!" Her voice shook.

  "What the—" I spun back around, thinking I knew what to expect. It had to be the guy who killed the dog. Even the mayor wouldn't freak Misty out like that.

  The fur dangling from his bloody lips told me I was right, except it wasn't a guy. Whatever he or it was, one thing was sure, it was way past its expiration date.

  I stepped into the shadow of a tall building so I could see the thing. Skinless, every inch covered in a sticky grayish-brown slime, like charcoal mixed with molasses. And the smell—burnt hair and rotten mayonnaise—even worse than the dumpster behind Harry's Indian and Sushi Hut.

  I stood looking at it, completely freaked out. Then it dawned on me that it might be a good idea to get the heck out of there.

  The words rattled as they came out, "Le-le-let's-go."

  Misty's outstretched hand still pointed at the ghoul staggering towards us; I grabbed her hand and turned. Thankfully our legs worked. We ran eight or nine blocks and didn't stop until we got to her front porch.

  "What was that?" Misty asked.

  "I don't know." I tried to catch my breath. "I mean, I know, but I'm afraid to say."

  Misty seemed winded, but calm, considering what we'd just seen. My knees wouldn't stop shaking.

  "What? What do you think it was?" she demanded.

  "It's obvious. That guy—err-thing—wasn't alive; it wasn't even all there. But it was taking a stroll down the street. It had to be a zombie."

  "I knew you spent too much time watching that sci-fi channel."

  "Okay, what's your explanation?" Now my hands were on my hips.

  "I don't know." She had a lock of hair between her lips. "Maybe a chemical burn? That could be why they evacuated the town."

  "Chemical burn? You can do better than that. That thing looked like part of it was still in the ground somewhere. Did you smell it? That wasn't barbecue I smelled—"

  "Nate. I swear sometimes you're disgusting on purpose." She stomped her foot.

  "Look, whatever it was, it's bad news. Let's go in, then figure out what to do."

  I forced a smile. Misty blew a few stray hairs out of her mouth and said, "Yeah. Better get in before it comes back for dessert."

  * * *

  I didn't feel much like eating, but we hadn't had a bite all day and Misty insisted. So I forced down some Coco Pebbles. I couldn't even finish the chocolaty sweet milk.

  "What now? Lock ourselves in?" Misty asked.

  "We could go out and kill it, one limping zombie. No problem. We get my dad's gun, then hunt it down." My fingers tapped on her old aluminum kitchen table.

  I was pretty relieved when she said, "Hunt it down? I don't think so. We don't know for sure it's even a zombie. We should cross the river to Greenburg. Keep going to Quincy if we have to." She drank a huge glass of milk in one long gulp, then wiped her mustache off with her sleeve.

  "Greenburg? Quincy? No way. Who knows how many zombies are there. Maybe none, but may
be hundreds. What if we get surrounded? We'd have no place to hide."

  "Okay, then we secure the house, and wait out your zombie invasion watching movies." Misty's eyes patrolled the front window. "Help has to arrive...soon."

  "I saw this movie where they waited out a zombie invasion in the mall. The mall has everything: food, guns, clothes."

  Misty picked up the phone, smacked the receiver a couple times, then listened, like she might bash a dial tone out of it. Her nails were covered with dirt and chipped pink polish.

  "There's no gun store in the mall. Besides, our mall's open air." That had to be the only time Misty ever turned down a trip to the mall.

  "So, the people in this movie, did they make it?" She twisted the phone cord around her finger. Misty had a corded phone. Her dad didn't buy fancy stuff like cordless phones, new cars, or two-ply toilet paper.

  "Don't remember. I think one of them got pregnant."

  "We don't have to worry about that."

  "The baby turned out to be some sort of monster."

  "Aren't they all?" Then she suddenly got excited, "Oh, I got it. We'll hide out in Walmart. It's perfect; they've got everything."

  Walmart was the pride of Indian Springs (like I said, it was a small town). We'd beat out every town in three counties for the honor of selling discount merchandise. My dad said it was the only reason Mayor Frank had gotten re-elected. Walmart wasn't a bad idea. Except for one thing, "There's too much glass in the front."

  "Oh yeah...Could we get some plywood, board up the windows?"

  "Might work, plus I bet it has one of those security gate things."

  "Then Walmart it is," she said, smiling with satisfaction.

  "Okay, but we'll stop by my house first to get the gun and some clothes." I stood up and my leg throbbed where the mayor had bitten me. I wanted to look at it. See if I was done for sure, but I was afraid of alarming Misty, so I decided not to look.

  "I should pack some stuff, too."

  As I looked out at the sun cowering behind the mountains, I tried not to think of how messed up this all was. "What's keeping you? We better get going," I hollered up the stairs.

  Misty's old backpack was bursting (literally in some places) at the seams.

  "Hope you got enough clothes," I said.

  "Yeah, should probably gotten more."

  "That wasn't what I meant. But you can pick out some at Walmart"

  "Walmart? For clothes? Don't think so." Misty looked at me as if I was crazy. "I wouldn't be caught dead in anything from Walmart."

  I hoped it wouldn't come to that.

  "We're going to need to find a ride. Something with a trunk," I said, looking out the window at the lonely streets.

  "Haven't we been over this? We don't know how to drive and my dad took the car."

  "Driving's easy, and I wasn't thinking of your station wagon—more like my dad's Fastback." My dad had a 1967 Shelby GT500 Fastback. Mint condition, in factory powder blue. He only took it out for car shows and the Indian Hills Fourth of July parade.

  "That's the first bright idea you've had."

  "What happened to the whole cutting me some slack thing?" We'd always given each other lip; it was sorta funny. But lately it'd been getting downright brutal.

  As she grabbed her backpack and headed out the door, Misty shot me her little half-smile that raised the dimple on just the right side of her mouth.

  I took the big axe and followed. I knew Misty couldn't resist taking the Fastback—no one could, even a girl.

  "Speaking of bright ideas, didn't Greg get an electric scooter last Christmas?" Greg was one of Misty's two older brothers.

  Misty's older brothers sucked. Not for Misty, they never picked on her; her dad wouldn't stand for it. But they delighted in torturing me. Fortunately, they weren't too bright, and over the years I'd gotten real good at avoiding them.

  "It's really a toy," she said. "But it should get us to your house."

  There wasn't much room on the scooter with all three of us: Misty, myself, and the huge axe. She let me steer and put her arms tight around my waist. That was the second time she'd hugged me that day, or our whole lives, depending on how you looked at it.

  It was only five blocks to my house, but we still managed to run into a little trouble.

  The zombie-type of trouble.

  "Let's turn back and take another street," Misty said as a trio of female zombies approached at the end of the block. They could have passed for three grandmothers out in their Sunday best, except their pastel and lace-fringed dresses were soaked in blood.

  I stopped the scooter. My first impulse was to dump the thing and run back to Misty's house. When I was six and afraid of the dark, my dad taught me this trick: Stand still and slowly count to ten; then things don't seem so scary.

  I stared at the zombies and silently counted to ten.

  "Nate, what are you waiting for? Free hard candy? Get out of here!"

  Okay, so it doesn't work with zombies, but I realized they moved slow—really slow. Heck, one of them was sporting a walker.

  "Nah, they're crawling. We can ride around them," I said, casually waving my hand at her.

  I didn't wait for a reply. Daylight was burning, and the elderly-undead seemed so slow I really thought we had nothing to worry about.

  As we rode past, they turned to follow. I still wasn't worried; they were way on the other side of the street.

  A half-second later, I felt a lurch. I flew over the handlebars. At the same time, Misty screamed.

  Now I was worried.

  I rolled completely over and landed on my feet. Nice move, except I lost the axe.

  I turned and saw one of the granny zombies had Misty by the backpack. I don't want to repeat what she screamed. Let's just say she wasn't eager for grandma to get close enough to give her a kiss.

  My axe lay in the street, almost right under them. In one move, I swooped down, retrieved it, and brought the blunt end up, smacking it in the chin.

  Crunch—something flew from its jaw.

  Misty broke loose. The zombie let out a high-pitched scream. I swung the axe back, about to take a whack at its head, when it turned back and bit down on my arm, making a wet, mushy sound.

  "Aah!" I cried and pulled my arm free.

  Misty had already retreated several paces. I wanted to take another whack at it, but I realized I didn't even know if that would stop it. I mean, sure it does in the movies, but would it work for real? Could I even hit it hard enough? And what about her two bridge buddies, just a few feet away?

  The scooter was thrashed, so we ran.

  "Thanks, Nate."

  "What the heck happened?" I asked between breaths.

  "It jumped me."

  "It did what?"

  "It jumped—well, it was more of a lurch. It just dove at me as we rode past. Those things are strong—slow, but strong." Misty held a clump of hair; I could tell she was trying not to put it in her mouth.

  "I didn't think of that. We'll have to keep farther away in the future."

  "What are you saying? Do you think we'll see more of them?"

  "Your guess is as good as mine, but this morning we walked from one end of town to the other; the place was empty." I held the axe behind my back, hiding the arm that had been bitten, too afraid to look. "Now we've gone two blocks, three zombies. Speaking of which, they're still following. Let's take a detour. Make sure we lose them before we get to the house."

  We'd started down a side street towards the center of town, easily losing the little-old-zombies when I felt a burning sensation on my arm. "Ouch, that stings."

  "What, what is it?"

  "I don't know. My arm, it burns. Aah, it really burns." I stopped and grabbed it. I couldn't help but look. It was bright red, but I didn't see any blood—only faint bite marks.

  "Nathan, it's turning red!"

  "Quick. Some water!" I started to panic. I looked around, but couldn't find any, not even a spigot.

  "You musta
been bit. You're turning into a zombie!" Misty's eyes bulged as she stared at my arm.

  "Just get me something to put on it!" I yelled.

  "There's the Pizza Pit. I'll get some water." Misty ran off towards the shops down at the end of the street.

  It seriously burned now, like holding your arm under scalding water. Tears rolled down my cheeks. I fought the urge to scream. I wasn't a crier, but this sucked.

  Unable to wait for Misty, I used the only liquid I had: saliva. I didn't know what else to do; I just spit on my arm. It helped, so I kept doing it. A second later, I heard the crash of shattering glass.

  "Here's some water—Yuck!" Misty returned with a big glass. "What are you doing? That's disgusting."

  "Yeah, but it works. Pour that on my arm." The water took the rest of the burn away. It still stung—I mean really good—but no more burn. "Hey, did you break a window in the Pizza Pit?"

  "Yeah, I had to get in. The door was locked, so I grabbed a patio chair and viola! A glass of water."

  "Wow, you're my hero."

  "Shut up."

  "Hope they don't find out it was us. That's the only decent pizza in town." I smiled and added, "Seriously, thanks."

  "What did that to your arm?"

  "It must have been..." I thought for a moment. "The zombie. When I hit the zombie, it bit my arm."

  I looked down. I had the world's worst Indian burn. "Miss, did it touch you?"

  "No, only my backpack. But what about your arm—"

  "Your backpack." I quickly grabbed her and spun her around. This wasn't the time for kid-gloves. "Geez, better take it off. You've got zombie snot or something all over it."

  She dropped it like an outta style handbag.

  "Wow, that stuff is strong." Part of the material had already dissolved and it seemed to be spreading.

  Misty froze and looked me up and down, "Nate, you've been bit by a zombie. You are going to turn into one now."

  "No, no, I'm fine. It didn't really bite me. I mean, I think I knocked its dentures out. It kinda gummed me."

  "Nate, that stuff's toxic. You've been infected with zombie snot; it's only a matter of time now." She stared at me, deadly serious, and started stepping backward.

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  Priscilla the Great (Book 1)

  By Sybil Nelson

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