Flip This Zombie

by Jesse Petersen

  “Are you sure you’ll be okay alone?” he asked as the platform reached the top and the door above us opened to flood the area with sunshine streaming in from the holes and collapsed section of the warehouse roofing. It was kind of pretty, really, as the light caught on the dust.

  I nodded. “I’ll be extra careful.”

  “I could come with you,” he offered.

  I looked at him in his stark white lab coat and his crooked glasses. Sure, I knew he could handle a weapon to some extent, although I’d never technically seen him fire anything except for the remote guns and there wasn’t a whole lot of aim involved in that. Somehow I couldn’t imagine a scenario where he would be more help than harm.

  Unlike Dave, who could always be depended upon when the going got tough.

  Plus there was the little problem that if Barnes got hurt or killed or turned, there would be no one left to further develop his curative serum. Any future without zombies, at least any future I could see at the moment, would vanish along with Kevin’s mind and body.

  “I have the tranq liquid,” I reminded him with false cheer as I lifted up the dart gun he’d provided for me just an hour before. “And there’s always the big cannon to use in a bad pinch.”

  I frowned and looked off into the distance toward the lonely road that led out of here. “As long as Dave didn’t take it from the van when he left, that is. I’ll be fine.”

  I didn’t feel fine thinking about the hunt without my partner in crime and life, but there was no point reiterating that to the doctor or myself.

  “Speaking of the van…” Kevin began as we walked out into the sunshine.

  I stared as he motioned his arm toward a big SUV parked right in front of the warehouse. It was a little banged up and dusty as hell, but it had a huge frame mounted to the front for pushing other vehicles around and was more than roomy enough in the storage area for a zombie, maybe even two.

  Plus, it was way better than our van, which I now saw flipped on its roof over on the side of the road. The driver’s side was almost entirely caved in and I forced myself to look away and not think about what exactly that could have done to my body if I hadn’t been lucky as hell.

  “What in the world?” I gasped as I hurried toward the new vehicle.

  Kevin clicked the automatic lock button on the clicker in his hand and let me open it up.

  “It was one of the ones left parked by our staff in a warehouse just behind ours,” he explained. “See, I do get out occasionally.”

  I flung open the back hatch of the vehicle and peered inside. This was a full-sized model and there was almost the same amount of room as you found in the beds of some small trucks. The carpeting in the back was stained, it looked like with blood and dust, but at this point, that was commonplace.

  Plus, whoever had run with the vehicle before had installed one of those roof-to-floor divider guards that kept cargo from the back from falling into the seats in front of it. I wasn’t sure how long the flimsy metal would hold a zombie when tested, but it would certainly keep me safer from one should the sedative fade while I was bringing the beast back to Kevin.

  “I put all the weapons I could find from the van into the back seat,” he explained.

  I moved around and opened the passenger door behind the driver’s side. Sure enough, a big collection of my weapons and ammo were stacked neatly on the back seat and the floor, including the cannon I’d so coveted.

  From what I could see Dave had only taken a few weapons and enough ammo to get him out of the area. He would have to resupply soon if he didn’t intend to come back to find me.

  God, I hoped he was okay.

  I blinked against weirdly sudden tears and slammed the door. “This is great, thanks so much.”

  Kevin stepped toward me, his face intense and still filled with something more than simple friendly concern. “Just stay safe out there, okay?”

  I nodded as I got into the front seat. He handed me the keys, his fingers lingering just a moment too long on mine before I got them and was able to close the door between us.

  I rolled down the window. “Look,” I started after a second’s hesitation. “If something does happen to me, I have a couple of friends who might be able to help you. And also take care of The Kid—”

  “Friends?” Barnes looked confused.

  “Yeah.” I shook my head. “I mean, I might be hurt or worse and I’d hate for it to stop your progress. These people I’m talking about, they have hunting experience. The guy was apparently a chemist at some point. Their names are Josh and Drea, The Kid met them a couple of days ago—”

  Barnes’s eyes went wide and he burst in to interrupt me. “No, no! Just be careful. Be careful and everything will be fine.”

  I nodded even though what he said was anything but true. I started up the engine and waved as I pulled away from the warehouse, leaving him in my rearview mirror, just watching me go.

  I clicked at the stereo in the hopes that there might be a CD in the changer to fill my brain with something other than thoughts of Dave and the obvious crush Kevin had on me.

  The sound roared forth from a decent set of speakers. Damn, it had been a while because we’d been driving that ancient hulk of a van for so long. The CD in the changer was Alicia Keys. Nice.

  As she sang to me about New York (did it still exist?) and lost loves and played out all her passion on the keys of her piano, I tried to relax and mentally prepare myself for what I was about to do.

  I already knew a couple of things. First, I had to be on my best game. Fighting zombies alone was a huge risk, catching them alone… well, the idea of it danced dangerously on the edge of suicidal. But I’d basically given up my husband for this choice of a hope for the future. I wasn’t about to back out of it now and make that awful sacrifice be in vain.

  Second, I wanted to snag a female zombie. Kevin had two males on his tables in the lab rapidly disappearing behind me, but a woman’s chemistry was different and I wanted him to be able to test his serums and theories on a wide variety of subjects.

  Settled with those goals in mind, I drove onto the highway, but I have to be honest and tell you, I had no real plan in mind. And trust me, running without a plan is always a bad idea in the zombie-infested Badlands. Without one, you might as well just hang out a sign on the side of your car that says, “Eat me.”

  And not in the way the women who sold themselves at the camps for food did. Gross.

  But I plowed forward anyway, maneuvering my car until I found a school. Why a school?

  Okay, so sexism says that more teachers are female than male. Lots of zombies stay in the general area of their origin. Plus, the school was in what was once a residential area. There had been lots of zombie chow here in the beginning, I’m sure.

  So with all that in mind, it followed that within the walls of… Creekside Elementary (a ridiculous name since we were in the desert with no creek within any reasonable distance to the school), there were probably a couple of chicks still roaming their classrooms, hanging with the students who they had turned or who had turned them one fateful afternoon just before recess.

  I pulled into the parking lot and took a space right near the door even though it said HANDICAPPED.

  Here’s a weird thing. Even though parking wasn’t exactly at a premium in the last few months, I still felt really guilty about taking a spot meant for someone disabled. I mean, my great auntie had owned a handicapped placard because of some weird hip thing and every time I slid into one of those extra-wide spots with the little blue chair in it, I could hear her screeching voice in my ear, repeating her favorite phrase:

  “For shame, Sarah!! For shame.”

  Today was no different and I muttered, “Shut up, Auntie Rose,” to myself before I looked around me.

  There were a handful of rusted-out cars in the lot and a sludge-covered bus parked half up on the sidewalk, both good signs that someone had been home when the plague hit the school. I pulled my supplies from the ba
ck seat and began to load up as I played potential scenarios out in my head over and over.

  Dave always told me I needed to think more and act less on emotion, and he was right. As always.

  Today more than ever, though, his advice was spot-on. He wasn’t there to protect my ass so I had to be very certain that I was ready for all contingencies before I took step one into the dark, low building that had once been a place of learning and children’s laughter.

  The dart gun was vital, so I took it. Also the bat Dave had created for me just a short time ago. I admit that putting it into place at my utility belt made my heart hurt a little. I missed the goof. A lot.

  And then there was the cannon. I hadn’t actually tried it out yet, but it wasn’t too complicated, especially for someone as well-versed in weaponry as I’d become. Funny, back when this started, I had no clue how to shoot and could hardly reload. How quickly things change.

  But anyway, the cannon was basically a big-ass gun that could fire hundreds of bullets at once, spraying down any target (or targets) in a few presses of the trigger mechanism.

  The only problem was that it was a huge thing. When I strapped it across my back, my knees actually buckled a little from its weight and I had to readjust all my other supplies (including the rope to bind whatever I hoped to catch) before I dared move forward into uncharted and dangerous territory.

  Still, within fifteen minutes of pulling into the lot, I felt ready enough to start toward the big double doors that led into the school building.

  Heading up the long sidewalk that led to the entryway, I was struck by a feeling that this was all so familiar. I could almost hear the soccer moms at the curb, yelling out directions to their children as they scurried through the yard. I could almost see the teachers herding little groups of kids toward the front of the school as the bell rang to signal the beginning of the day.

  When the infection had come to the school, what had brought it? Some little latchkey kid who no one cared enough about to notice he’d been bitten by someone? Or a rabid janitor who was already kind of weird so no one noticed until it was too late? Maybe even a stuffy principal whose morning announcements that day had been very different.

  I shook away my thoughts and tugged at the doors, but I found they were locked. It didn’t really surprise me.

  When the shit started going down, there was no way the schools hadn’t gotten a “lock down” order. You can thank Columbine and other school shootings for that. It was just standard operating procedure meant to limit the incident as much as possible.

  Only in this case, once the people in this place were locked down, they were also locked in with whoever and whatever had already been infected. At that point, I could well imagine all hell had broken loose amongst the kids with ADD and the teachers who were already burned out and waiting for retirement. Once they started turning on each other…

  Well, it must not have been pretty (although maybe a tiny bit satisfying for some of the teachers).

  I could only hope someone had managed to get out alive. Maybe somebody like The Kid. He was about the right age to be ending his elementary career and moving up to the junior high down the street. Smart kids like him had some kind of advantage, at least.

  I reached through the already broken glass and turned the bolt from inside to get access.

  The hallways were wide and had probably been well-lit at one point. I had somehow picked a school district that actually had money, because there was very little wear on the floors or walls.

  In fact, staring at the happy signs and fresh paint, one could almost picture that school was just about to pick up at any minute after a good, long summer break. Kids could have just walked back in around me and started learning and fighting and breaking up into cliques.

  Except for the fact that there was a dried blood pool three feet across at the base of a staircase straight ahead and black sludge smeared across every door down the hall, of course.

  Yeah, I had definitely come to the right place. There had been activity here at some point. And judging from the wetness of some of the sludge, recent activity at that.

  “Hey zombies,” I murmured softly as I eased through the halls.

  They were still decorated with WELCOME BACK! signs. See, the initial outbreak had started right in the middle of August, so these rooms had been prepared for new students with new dreams.

  New problems, too. Bigger than budget cuts or the increasingly unprepared student.

  I stopped at one of the classroom doors. It said 2B, MRS. PEEPLES on the door. A perky little paper sun smiled down from near the placard, sunglasses perched on his round little sunshine nose. Tempered, fogged glass covered a big portion of the door, I guess to keep the kids from being distracted by stuff in the hall. Unfortunately, it also meant I couldn’t see shit inside. Still, there was no obvious movement from within to warn me off.

  Slowly, I gripped the doorknob and turned it. Unlike the front door, it opened easily. No locks for classrooms, I guess. Inside, I looked around. Though there was a mustiness in the air from the room being locked up for so long, the familiar and comforting scent of chalk and glue still lingered in the background, taking me back to my own childhood.

  Sun streamed through the big windows. They were filthy with sludge, both outside and more tellingly, in, and caked with sand from three months’ worth of dust storms, but they still provided enough light that I wasn’t totally blind. I glanced around, scanning for the teacher, even for a little kid who would make a good specimen. It may sound awful, but if it meant ending this, I’d probably take in my own mother.

  The mother I currently hoped was safe behind what might be a mythical Midwest Wall.

  “Mrs. Peeples,” I called out in the dusty air. “Time to come to class.”

  Behind me there was a screech of a chair being pushed and I spun to face the sound. The door I’d opened then glided shut and standing behind it was who I assume might have once been Mrs. Peeples.

  She was wearing a long, really ugly jumper-type dress that I think once had a Winnie the Pooh sewn appliqué of some kind on the front, though it was mostly ripped off with only half a honey pot and part Winnie’s little yellow leg left behind (fitting in a zombie world). Beneath it, she’d once worn a yellow t-shirt of some kind, but it was turned brown and smudged from the months of devastation.

  She’d been sensible and worn little Keds with ankle socks, probably so she could chase her class around outside at recess, but sometime over the intervening months, the little thin soles had worn off, leaving her mostly barefoot.

  “Gross,” I whispered as I shuddered at the sight of her dirty, bloody toes.

  Some things are still yucky to me. Feet are one of them, okay?

  I guess my commentary must have offended her, because Mrs. Peeples bared her teeth with a grunting roar in a tiny little voice that was almost cute except it signaled a real desire to deal death and undeath.

  I yanked the dart gun from across my back and aimed just as she started toward me in a jolting, dragging speed walk. Her arms flailed around her almost like they were disconnected and her head turned sideways as she sniffed for me as these things often did.

  I pulled off a shot and the dart entered her neck exactly where Kevin had told me to place it. She kept moving forward, one step, two steps, three…

  Bam!

  She teetered forward, her red eyes rolling back in her head, and then collapsed down on the ground between the mess of little desks that had been tossed about during the outbreak.

  I stared down at her, totally silent and unmoving. Had I killed her? Had the fall killed her? I mean, zombies are half-rotten, so they often die from head blows that would only give a regular person a hell of a headache. That’s one of their few weaknesses.

  I set the dart gun down and instead pulled out my 9mm. Holding it with one hand, I grabbed the zombie’s shoulder and flipped her on her back. She stared up at the ceiling with open, blank eyes.

  “Not dead,”
I said with a sigh.

  See, they were still red. When a zombie dies their pupils go blank and black. They don’t stay red. Red means alive and wanting your flesh.

  I stared down at the living corpse. Now I just needed to get her from the classroom to the vehicle. She was light enough to carry, but I wasn’t sure I trusted the sedative enough yet to just sling her over my shoulder and hope she didn’t wake up halfway down the sidewalk.

  I pulled the rope from my belt and carefully bound her arms at her sides. I’d watched The Kid make his special “Boy Scout” knots about a dozen times, but I still wasn’t so great at it. When I tested them, though, they seemed like they’d hold for a while, at least.

  Still, I wasn’t sure how to carry her. Dang, this was easier when I had Dave around. He could have taken the feet, me the shoulders, and we would have been loaded up already.

  But he was gone and I had to do this alone now.

  I sighed and looked around. Immediately, my eye was drawn to a cart in the corner of the room. It was covered with paint jars and other supplies and was probably normally used to disperse those things to the kids for art class.

  Today it was going to disperse me a zombie.

  I grabbed it and pushed it over to the body on the floor. In one satisfying sweep of a forearm, I threw the paint and other things onto the floor. They clattered and banged, sending sprays of yellow and blue and red across the once pristine white tile.

  Yes, there is some fun in being in an apocalypse. You do get to play at being an avant-garde artist sometimes. For instance, the stain across the floor was a part of my Blue Period, kept forever for posterity (or until someone covered it up or the building fell down).

  With a chuckle, I grabbed the zombie teacher and flopped her up over the cart on her stomach. She hung awkwardly, her feet almost touching the ground on one side and her dirty hair swinging against the floor on the other.

  I got behind the cart but it wouldn’t roll no matter how hard I pushed. With a curse, I bent to check the wheels. There was some kind of locking mechanism on the dirty, damaged metal that only allowed them to turn in one direction and no matter how much I pulled on it, it was rusted in place. With a sigh, I switched sides and began backing the cart toward the door.