by MJ Ware
Chapter 6 - Class Dismissed
We made quick stops at Camping World and the gas station before heading to Walmart.
In a way, the whole thing was thrilling. Don't get me wrong, I was totally freaked out. But it was also exciting—in a scare-your-socks-off, give-you-hideous-nightmares, scar-you-for-life kinda way.
We'd put two generators and a bunch of gas cans in the trunk. To make room, I threw out (according to Misty) several thousand dollars' worth of clothes.
Behind Walmart, the sun disappeared over the mountains. We still had a couple hours before dark, but we needed to hurry. I pulled the Mustang up parallel with the doors. A few cars laid scattered around the parking lot, and fortunately no zombies.
"Quick, let's get everything unloaded," I said.
Misty jumped out of the Mustang and the glass doors greeted us by swinging open. "Better do a zombie check," she said.
"I'll do a quick search."
The place looked open for business—filled with silent, unseen customers. Register lights on, carts everywhere; some appeared to be mid check-out. One tipped over. Its contents spread across the linoleum floor. The place must have been evacuated in a hurry.
I ran as quickly as I could down one side of the store, expecting a zombie at every turn. As I glanced down each aisle, my chest got tighter, the fear building. On the way back, I ran faster and faster, too afraid to look back until I got to Misty.
"No signs of any living dead," I said, leaning down with my hands on my knees, trying to regain my breath.
"Nate, help me get the generators and stuff out."
We unloaded the car as quickly as we could.
"We'll need to figure out how to lock the front door. It has one of those security gate-fence things, but I doubt we can find the key," Misty said, spitting a few strands of hair out of her mouth.
"I'll pick up a lock and some chain. We'll find the keys later." I wiped the sweat from my face. "Here, lock the car. I'll grab a shopping cart."
I swear they design shopping carts to have least one messed-up wheel; it took a minute to find a decent one.
"Nathan, come here!" Misty yelled from outside.
I heard something in her voice. By now, I knew what it meant.
"There! I think it's another zombie."
Off in the distance, we could see someone, or something, approaching at the edge of the parking lot.
"I can't tell, hold on. I've got a pair of binoculars." I leaned inside, where we'd piled our supplies.
"Well?" asked Misty.
I adjusted the focus. "It's a zombie."
"Are you sure? He doesn't look dead—maybe just a little pale."
"Look for yourself, you'll see." I handed them to her and spit in disgust.
"I can't see his eyes. He might be alive."
"You don't recognize him?"
"No, do you?"
"It's Mr. Lopez. Teaches—well, taught Math," I said, rubbing my forehead.
"Oh my gosh, you're right. How could I have forgotten?"
Mr. Lopez had died of a heart attack last week while trying to teach Geometry in summer school—probably enough to kill anyone. It had been in the paper and on the local news.
"You had his class last year, didn't you?"
"Yeah, Pre-Algebra, hated it. It's just wrong to teach kids algebra. Still, to see him standing there..."
"I know what you mean. What are we going to do?" Misty's white knuckles clutched her Super Soaker.
"I don't think we have a choice. Even if we get the door locked, he might break the glass or attract more zombies. That's the last thing we need."
"Okay, we'll flip to see who does it."
I didn't like the idea of killing my math teacher, even if he was a soulless zombie. I mean, the guy had passed me. Still, if Mom found out I made Misty kill Mr. Lopez, I'd never hear the end of it.
"No, I'll do it. But it's taking him forever to cross the lot. I'm going to run and get the locks. Be back before he's in range."
Misty grabbed my arm. "No way. You are not leaving me out here with a zombie. I don't care how slow it is."
"Fine, I'll wait." We stood by the door with the car in front of us. Each passing minute, my stomach got sicker and sicker. It was a good thing we hadn't eaten much.
"Think he's close enough?" I asked, looking at his familiar polyester suit and Mickey Mouse tie.
"The box said fifty feet. I think he's farther than that."
The shadows grew thick and a chill rose in the air. I wasn't waiting any longer.
"Here goes nothing." I really pumped up the gun, then shot directly at him. The stream went pretty far and only dropped a little, hitting the zombie Mr. Lopez right in the midsection.
Only nothing happened.
I kept shooting. I'd soaked his entire torso before the pressure failed. The zombie mathematician didn't flinch—not even a fraction—he just kept right on coming.
"This is a problem." I turned to run and find the axe when Misty stopped me.
"Wait, I have an idea. Try the face."
"Which one, my evil face or my mean face?"
"Nathan, just shoot it in the face."
I didn't have a lot of juice left, but pumped my gun a bunch, then sprayed the Super Soaker high in the air so it arced and came down right on his face. Within seconds, the undead Mr. Lopez dropped to the floor. He let out a terrible scream that echoed in my skull.
A second later, it was over. Mr. Lopez lay sprawled across the parking lot, face down—smoking like a smoldering fire.
"That sucks," I said. "I feel like I just killed a man. Not a zombie, but someone I actually knew."
"Nathan, that's nonsense. He wasn't Mr. Lopez anymore." Misty put her hand ever so lightly on my shoulder.
"Yeah, I guess you're right." Still, only a few days ago he was walking around school torturing kids with math quizzes.
"We know how to kill them now," Misty said, looking away.
"I guess Mr. Lopez had one last lesson to teach."
"Nate, let's go. We need to get this place locked up before it gets dark."
We figured out how to lock all the double doors with a chain, but we couldn't get a chain around the garden center door. Instead, we used a pallet jack to move a huge pallet of bagged manure in front of it. It so reminded me of how our day had gone.
"We'll have to figure something permanent tomorrow," Misty said.
When we got to the auto center, I realized we totally should have parked the Pony in there. It'd have to wait until tomorrow. It was empty—no cars. Just some tires, tools, and lots of grease on the floor. We pulled the two huge garage doors down, one on each side.
"The place seems locked up pretty tight."
"Okay, where do we set up camp?" Misty asked. "Maybe the furniture section? We could set it up like a living room."
"No, the vision center."
"Vision center?"
"It's got everything we need. Only one entrance, which is secured with another one of those sliding security doors, has its own bathroom. It's even carpeted."
"Okay. We'll drag our supplies over and get the meat and stuff into fridges."
"Wait a second. I have an idea." The pallet jack had me thinking.
"Don't go out of earshot, Nate," Misty yelled as I ran into the back warehouse. A moment later, I returned in triumph.
So excited with my find, I couldn't stop smiling as I pulled up in a forklift.
Misty must have seen my smugness and decided to bring me down a notch. "Are you sure you can drive that? After your performance with the Mustang, maybe I better steer."
"Very funny. Hop on or walk."
With the forklift, we easily moved everything into the vision center. I rolled a drink cooler over and replaced most of the soda with our food.
In the vision center, glasses covered every last bit of wall space. Like hundreds of pairs of eyes watching us from every direction. I quickly took down as many as I could, letting them fall to the floor.
; We set air mattresses up in the back corners and even started sorting supplies into storage bins.
"Let's get a TV and some DVDs. We've got to spend the evening doing something," Misty said.
I was too amped up to sleep and watching movies seemed better than sitting around wondering how many hungry zombies wandered around outside.
"Okay, then let's lock up. Tomorrow we'll really check this place out. Make sure there's nothing lurking about."
"I'm glad we've got this gate. It should do for tonight." Misty was playing with the vision center's security gate when disaster struck.
