Super Zombie Juice Mega Bomb

by MJ Ware

Chapter 8 – Really Weird Science

  That night we didn't watch a movie. We forgot to grab any DVDs, and the disc inside the player was one of those sappy Disney movies with the talking retriever pups.

  I thought about venturing out to get a real movie. But it just felt much safer in the vision center, behind that locked gate.

  The excitement of the day wore off and I crashed on my air mattress, not even bothering to turn out our lights. I couldn't stop wondering how long it would take to turn into a zombie. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw pale, bloody zombies glaring at me with their frosted eyes. That, along with the foul smell from the fire made for one long night.

  When I woke up in the morning, the first thing I did was check my eyes in one of the vision center mirrors. They seemed normal. I looked at my leg and it was fine too. Just a couple faint teeth-shaped marks. Maybe my pants had provided just enough protection, or maybe it was because the mayor wasn’t fully turned, but if nothing had happened by now, I hoped I'd be fine.

  Somehow, in the morning Misty managed to sleep in. I'd already finished breakfast by the time she woke up, looking like a model for one of those Proactiv commercials—the after treatment—not before.

  "Nate, you look terrible."

  "I think the smoke's getting to me," I said as I picked the crusties out of my eyes.

  "Let's figure some way to air this place out."

  "Yeah, plus we've gotta get rid of the security guard."

  "Security guard?" she asked.

  "The one who set the place on fire last night."

  "Oh right, it was a security zombie. Hey, how'd it get into the bathroom, anyway? I mean, zombies don't use the toilet, right?"

  "Didn't think of that. Maybe someone locked it in."

  "We better really search this place."

  While I refilled my Super Soaker, Misty went to the back to wash up.

  I glanced at my blistered arm and wondered what were that odds that we'd both make it through this. I decided if one of us had to get zombified it better be me; I couldn't stand watching Misty turn into one of those things.

  Misty finished washing about the same time the generator went out.

  Light came in through the front windows, so it wasn't too dark, but I lit a lantern anyway.

  "Generator empty already? At this rate, we'll be out of gas in a few days," Misty said.

  "That's not all we're running low on. I used almost half of the lemonade refilling our guns. We might have to try the fake lemonade stuff they sell here."

  "I've been thinking about that and I have an idea."

  "Let me guess, it involves me squeezing lemons?"

  "No, it involves chemistry."

  "Even worse. I'll be zero help."

  "Do you remember acids and bases from science class?"

  "No. Of course not, do you?" I looked at her like she had something slimy dangling from her nose.

  "Unlike you, I pay attention in class and it's a good thing." Misty grabbed a mini powdered donut from the box sitting on the display case. How could she be so calm? My nerves were shot.

  "Just get on with it. How's this going to help? Do you know how to kill the zombies?"

  "Maybe, I mean, it has to be something in the lemonade, right?"

  "Yeah, but there's not much in lemonade besides water and sugar. Think it's the sugar?"

  "No, you've got it all wrong. If I'm right, it's the pH. Lemons have a really low pH. If you soak a penny in lemon juice overnight it will shine right up. It's like an acid."

  "Cleaning a penny is a far stretch from killing a zombie."

  "Not killing, neutralizing. I remember Mr. Brunner, my science teacher, mixed a base with an acid, just citric acid, I think." Little sprinkles of powdered donut speckled her lips as she spoke. "Anyway, the whole thing flashed—flames, smoke—the same as our zombies."

  "You mean our zombies are killed by citrus?" I wasn't sure if I was buying it.

  "What I am saying is maybe, just maybe, our zombies have a high pH and we can use acid, any acid to neutralize them. They die when we bring down their pH."

  "Then why didn't the lemonade burn through Mr. Lopez when I shot him in the chest?" I tried not to squirm as I thought about it.

  "Don't know. Maybe his skin protected him. Maybe that's why we have to shoot them in the face. Maybe it was burning through his skin, but slowly. Like the zombie snot did to your arm." She glanced down at my arm.

  "Well, I guess it makes sense, but how do you propose to test this theory?"

  I unlocked the security gate. We leaned our heads out and looked around, half-expecting an undead Walmart greeter to come around the corner, demanding more than just leaving our backpacks by the door.

  "I haven't figured that out yet. After we search the store and clean up your zombie mess, we'll get some pH strips from the pool supplies and make some test solutions. Then we'll have to find a volunteer."

  "Not me. That lemonade really burned my eyes."

  "Let's get going. We've got another fun-filled day ahead of us," she said and forced a smile.

  I wanted to take the forklift, but Misty thought we should try to save fuel. So we decked out our shopping cart with all the stuff we might need: a lantern, extra Super Soakers, and, of course, the axe. Misty even went to the pharmacy to pick up some band-aids and stuff.

  We really searched the store good. I'm talking closets, under desks, inside cabinets. Any place large enough to fit a human body. We got lucky, not only were there no zombies, but in the manager's office we found the key ring with all the keys to the store.

  "Let's refill the generator and get rid of the security zombie," I said. It wasn't a task I was looking forward to.

  "Man, this place is a wreck." Misty held a trash bag as she stepped around the charred remains of men's undergarments.

  That's when it hit me. "Oh no, not the underwear. We couldn't have burned them all."

  Misty stifled a laugh. "Don't worry, I'm sure we'll find some."

  We looked and looked and looked. No boxers, no briefs, even those stupid South Park silk boxer shorts were all charred beyond use.

  "Come on, let's get this zombie out of here before it really starts smelling," she said when she'd given up looking.

  I'm pretty strong for my size, but this thing was heavy. "Friends help you move. Real friends help you move bodies. Now I know why."

  "Nate, you're such a dork."

  We managed to get the zombie loaded onto the forklift and took it to the front entrance. When we got there, we found another problem—more undead.

  The morning fog hadn't burned off; it washed the area with a pale haze that did little to mask the desperate scene. There must have been close to a dozen zombies scattered within sight of the front door.

  "If I didn't know better, I'd say they're breeding," Misty said.

  Zombies wandered around the parking lot, like aimless beggars looking for a handout. Wearing sick expressions and thrashed, soiled clothes. Some looked almost alive, others were pretty messed up—they all looked hungry.

  "There's certainly more of them. I hate to think how many we'll have tomorrow, or the next day."

  "At least this will make it easy to test my theory. Maybe we can figure out a way up to the roof."

  "I saw a ladder in the warehouse that led up there. Bet we have the key," I said.

  "Let's get the car into the garage right away. In case the streets fill up with even more of these things."

  The security zombie had started to ooze snot. So we'd wrapped it in trash bags before dragging it out front. Just out of sight, behind a Sam's Choice soda machine. The zombies immediately took notice and started coming over to introduce themselves. I hopped in the Shelby before any got too close. Misty ran inside and headed to open the garage door.

  I drove around the parking lot, carefully avoiding the undead.

  About halfway to the garage, a zombie stepped out, right in front of the car. I slammed on the brakes and started to put it in
reverse, then realized who it was.

  Mayor Frank stood there motionless, my boot in his hand. I didn't think, I just opened the door and got out of the car.

  "My shoe!" I yelled. Oblivious to the fact he couldn't understand me.

  Like yesterday, I punched him with everything I had. Only this time, he didn't go down. He barely flinched. And my hand throbbed twice as bad.

  I pointed my gun and pulled the trigger, but only a few drops dripped to the ground—it was clogged. The zombie politician (no, that's not redundant) grabbed my Super Soaker and ripped it out of my hand. I looked into his eyes; they were completely fogged over—nothing human left.

  I tried getting away, but the tubing connected to the soaker's backpack held me like a leash. Before I could get it off, he grabbed my shoulder with his other hand, and threw the gun across the parking lot. The line to the backpack snapped. If I hadn't known better, I'd have thought this was personal.

  Both his chubby arms wrapped around me. I wedged my palm under one of his chins and tried my hardest to push his fat face away. The broken Super Soaker tube swung wildly, spurting lemonade harmlessly at our legs.

  Slowly he forced me closer, his strength overpowering mine. My chest pressed up against his body. With my right hand, I managed to keep his teeth at bay. His grip so tight I couldn't breathe.

  I reached down with my free hand. I grabbed desperately for the Super Soaker's hose, but it whipped about out of reach. Everything started getting fuzzy—soon I'd pass out.

  Somehow, as the flailing tube flew past my hand, I managed to grab it just before it slipped through my fingers.

  My right hand gave way and he turned to bite me.

  I thrust the end of the tube, lemonade still shooting out of it, into his mouth, except I missed.

  It slipped, sliding deep into his right nostril. He made a sharp grunt and loosened his grip. I squirmed and gasped for air, but couldn't break free.

  I looked on, horrified as lemonade started spraying out the other side of his nose.

  Finally, I broke free and stepped back. The rubber hose popped out and smoke billowed from both nostrils.

  He put his hands to the sides of his head and screamed as smoke and snot surged out of every opening.

  A second later, he fell to the ground.

  I was too startled to move until I heard footsteps behind me—more of the mayor's constituents.

  Quickly, I grabbed my boot, dashed back to the car, and locked the door. Covered in zombie snot, I ripped off my t-shirt. Glanced in the rear view mirror, then rolled down the window just enough to throw the shirt out before driving off.

  Misty rolled the door open as I pulled up. She must have heard the engine.

  "What took you so long?" she yelled.

  I parked the car and sat. Adrenaline rushed through me; every part of my body shook. I had a nearly uncontrollable urge to smash something.

  I heard the garage door shut with a whoosh. Misty stood there, but didn't approach.

  I sat a moment longer until I calmed down some. As soon as I got out, Misty ran over and grabbed me.

  "Nate! Are you okay? Were you bit?" Her face already soaked with tears.

  "I'm fine—just a close call."

  She embraced me. Her grip seemed almost as tight as the mayor's. I hugged her back and couldn't stop myself from crying—just a tiny bit—too.

  We stepped away and looked into each other's red eyes.

  "Nathan?" She looked me over with concern.

  "Yeah?"

  "Care to explain how you got your boot back?"