Zombie Elementary

by Howard Whitehouse

  ZOMBIE TIP

  In times of a zombie emergency, it is important to eat, hydrate and rest whenever you have the opportunity. Jermaine and Larry forgot this key rule. No matter what the circumstances, they should have taken the time to eat Pop-Tarts. Always eat the Pop-Tarts.

  15

  KYLE: So, nobody except you and Jermaine seemed to know anything at all about the zombies?

  LARRY: Like I said, all the grown-ups acted like everything was normal.

  KYLE: All the grown-ups?

  LARRY: Well, there was this one guy. He knew what was going on.

  KYLE: Tell us about him.

  I was over at Jermaine’s house, like I told you. Jermaine said we should find out if there was any more information about the zombie outbreak and that maybe it was on the Internet. There’s lots of useful stuff on the Internet that most people don’t know, like how you can lose thirty pounds with diet or exercise and how the president is an alien communist from Hawaii.

  Jermaine typed in the name of our town, Acorn Falls, plus zombie little league ambulance. That’s how you write in Google. You just put words in and see what comes up.

  What came up was this: nothing.

  “That’s weird,” said Jermaine. “There should be something. Even if it doesn’t make sense.” To prove this, he typed in the words pancake monkey tractor and got 27,400,000 hits starting with a “fun-themed pancake pan in a monkey shape” for $13.95.

  I guess we got distracted typing in weird stuff just to see what would come up next—I put in pink bunny lawnmower, which got over nine million hits, though none of the ones I looked at had a pink bunny using a lawnmower. That was kind of a shame.

  Jermaine’s bedroom is at the back of the house, facing the yard. Upstairs. Suddenly there was a tapping sound at the window. Like I said, we were tied up looking at bunnies and lawnmowers, so I jumped. Jermaine jumped too.

  I ran over and pulled up the blind, figuring it was just some kid we knew, messing around. But, no, it was a grown-up, clutching onto the windowsill. He was holding up a badge. A ladder was sagging underneath him. I didn’t think he was a burglar, so I opened the window.

  He looked like a boy, grown real big. He had glasses and floppy yellow hair. Jermaine just sorta stared at him. Guy pulled himself into the bedroom. Okay, I helped him a bit. It’s a tight squeeze. He grinned like a big kid. He waved the badge at me. It was gold and had the letters BURP on it.

  “I’m from the government, and I’m here to help you!”

  I stared at him. Jermaine stared at him. The man flashed another smile. “My name’s O’Hara. Could you spare a few minutes of your time?”

  Jermaine nodded, like he was in shock. He pointed at the window.

  “Oh, yeah, that,” said Mr. O’Hara. “I didn’t want to disturb your parents. It’s standard procedure in these cases.”

  “Cases?” blurted out Jermaine. “What cases?”

  I didn’t see any cases. Maybe Mr. O’Hara had left them at the bottom of the ladder.

  “You know, when kids spot a paranormal event, it’s pretty common that adults aren’t immediately aware of it,” said Mr. O’Hara. “So when I got the alert—when you typed in that search for zombies in Acorn Falls we automatically got a call—I just swung by to, um, chat.”

  Chat, I thought. You want to chat about the zombies all over our town.

  “See, I’m from the Bureau of Unusual Recurring Phenomena. That’s a long name for the people in charge when we get your basic cryptozoological problems—vampires, werewolves, little green men—that sort of stuff.”

  “I never heard of that before,” said Jermaine.

  “Well, you wouldn’t have. We keep it pretty low-key,” said Mr. O’Hara. “It’s best not to have it on the TV news channels. Those people could really exaggerate a minor alien invasion like you wouldn’t believe. It’s as if they want to scare the citizens of these United States.” He shook his head, like it was all amazing to him. “We operate out of a store in the back of a strip mall off North Main Street. We also sell dictionaries. Nobody wants to buy dictionaries anymore, so it’s a perfect cover.”

  I guessed that was true. I’d never bought one.

  “Anyway, here’s the thing. It’s me that needs the help. We’ve had budget cuts at BURP. We are what they call a ‘shoestring operation.’ So, right now, it’s just me.”

  “Just you?” I said, kinda stupidly.

  “Yup. I’m it for this whole area. So I could use some assistance. Let me tell you what we—I—know. Can I sit down?”

  Jermaine nodded. Mr. O’Hara sat on the edge of his bed. It creaked.

  “You want the good news or the bad news?”

  I hate those sorts of questions. There’s no right answer.

  “The good news is that the people in charge tell me this strain of zombie-ism isn’t a permanent state. It’s curable. There’s a serum under development that will return people back to their normal selves, and they won’t remember anything about what occurred.”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” said Jermaine. “How long before you have some?”

  “Ah,” said Mr. O’Hara. “That’s the bad news. I don’t know. They gave me about a thimbleful of the stuff. It’s green and goopy. And even if I had a lot, like I told you, it’s just me. I can’t go around with a needle jabbing zombies on my own. They’d get me in a minute. I’m not as fast as I used to be.”

  I nodded, like this all made sense.

  “So, here’s what I need from you kids. First off, don’t get bitten. I can’t say that strongly enough. Fight them if you have to, but don’t get bitten. Second, just bop them on the head. Don’t, like, blow them up or push ’em into mulching machines or—”

  He stopped a minute to think of other things we might do that maybe we shouldn’t. It’s not like Jermaine owns a machine gun. “Don’t do it, anyway.”

  “Is there a way of, um, keeping them away?” I asked.

  “The only thing we’ve found that works at all is a chainsaw,” said Mr. O’Hara. That was no help. I’m ten. Nobody lets a ten-year-old have a chainsaw.

  “You said not to, you know …” pointed out Jermaine.

  “Oh!” said Mr. O’Hara. “I just meant they don’t like the noise a chainsaw makes. Real high and screechy, right? They don’t like loud noises that keep repeating. Hurts their ears, I guess.”

  “Okay,” said Jermaine. “We’ll be smart. And we’ll keep you posted?”

  “Yes!” said Mr. O’Hara, jumping up. “Here’s my card. Call anytime. And remember, don’t get bitten.”

  I looked at the little white card. It said Walt O’Hara, Proprietor, Dictionary Emporium.

  I looked up again. He’d gone. I’d have said it was like magic if I didn’t hear the ladder creaking and some cursing. Quite a bit of cursing.

  “I think he broke my dad’s ladder,” said Jermaine.

  16

  Next day was Sunday.

  My family went to the Presbyterian Church on Sunday mornings. I used to think it was the Frisbeeterian Church. I was always waiting for the Frisbees. Not a one.

  Normally I don’t take a lot of notice about what’s going on in the service, but that Sunday, I really had other things on my mind.

  First thing, even before breakfast, I turned on the TV to see if there was any news about the ambulance. I switched around between channels, but mostly it was all about politics, sports and buying stuff only available for the next twenty minutes. I got to the channel the news had been on last night, but it was just a wrinkled old guy telling me how much God wanted me to send money. Not to God. To the wrinkled old guy. I was still switching channels when Mom came in and told me to stop looking at cartoons and get ready for church.

  Have I mentioned how much adults really don’t pay attention?

  So, I had my church clothes on and my hair pretty much flat, and we were all in the car. I was looking out of the window in case I saw any zombies. I mean, I figured that by now we’d be seeing zombies e
verywhere, like in Dawn of the Dead. Jermaine had shown me that one after Mr. O’Hara had left. Lots of zombies everywhere. Especially the mall. In movies, zombies like shopping malls. Jermaine said that in the British zombie movies, they all want to go to the pub.

  No zombies on the way to church.

  “Hey, Larry,” said my dad. “You seem pretty quiet this morning.”

  “Yeah,” I said. I mean, what else was I gonna tell him? Just watching out for zombies outside the Midas Muffler? I didn’t think so.

  KYLE: Was it a zombie?

  LARRY: Maybe. I thought it might be, but I wasn’t sure …

  KYLE: Outside the Midas Muffler?

  LARRY: Actually, by the dumpster in back of the donut shop.

  KYLE: I don’t think zombies care for donuts.

  LARRY: Good to know.

  Sunday School came before actual church. My Sunday School teacher is Miss Foogler. She’s about a thousand years old. My dad says she went to school with Moses, but I don’t know how he could know that. We only moved here three years ago.

  Anyhow, we sang some songs, and I got in trouble for playing the tambourine too loud and not in the places I was supposed to. We did crafts, and Jennalee Williams yelled at me when I got glue all down her leg. Miss Foogler said some stuff about Jesus and the parasites. They were smart-mouths and bullies from the sound of it, and Jesus told ’em so.

  Pretty much normal stuff.

  “Does anyone have any issues upon which the bright shining light of Jesus should shine?” asked Miss Foogler. She talks like that, I swear.

  So, I figured I should ask.

  “Hey, Miss Foogler!” I called out. “What if someone—a kid, say—notices that there’s something bad going on that all the grown-ups don’t take any notice of?”

  “Well, Larry Mullet,” she said. “You should politely bring the matter up to an adult and tell them what you know. Sometimes grown-ups aren’t fully aware of everything that concerns young citizens like yourselves.”

  “Right! Right!” I said. “But what if the adults just don’t take any notice?” I was thinking about the teachers and the coaches and the umpire. I gave Mr. Stine the bus driver a pass on this one. He’s generally not aware of anything much.

  Miss Foogler thought about it. “You must think what Jesus would have done in your circumstances.”

  That was a good question. What would Jesus do if he was attacked by zombies?

  KYLE: Any idea?

  LARRY: I dunno. He was arrested by the Roman soldiers, but they weren’t gonna bite his face off right there and then.

  KYLE: Yeah, makes all the difference.

  I guess I was surprised by what Francine Brabansky said next.

  “Miss Foogler, what did Jesus say about people who, like, attack perfectly innocent people going about their business at school or on the bus or at cheerleading practice?”

  Miss Foogler thought a minute about all the things Jesus said about cheerleading practice. I guess she couldn’t remember anything about that in the bible, so she said, “Jesus said if someone slaps us, we should turn the other cheek.”

  “What if that someone was trying to rip out your cheek and bite you?” asked Francine.

  Just then the bell rang to tell us it was time to go into church, so I never got to hear Miss Foogler’s answer.

  But I did know that Francine Brabansky knew about the zombies.

  17

  We walked across the grass to the church. It’s a separate building. So I had a minute to talk to Francine. Plus, if I talked to Francine, maybe Jennalee Williams wouldn’t kick me for the glue thing. Francine’s waaay tougher than Jennalee.

  Except I had no idea what to say.

  So it was good when she whispered, “You know about the zombies, don’t you?”

  I nodded. “Yup.”

  “We have to do something,” said Francine. “You know. Kill ’em.”

  “They’re already dead,” I pointed out.

  “Don’t be a smart aleck,” she answered. Which was kind of rude. I started to explain about what Mr. O’Hara had told me, but she put her finger to my lips (which was also kind of rude) so I didn’t say anything. Francine didn’t want to hear it.

  “We gotta destroy ’em. You know the grown-ups aren’t gonna do anything. It’s up to us!”

  We were at the church door now, and Miss Foogler shushed us. “Be quiet in church!” she told us, in a voice way louder than we were talking in.

  We went inside. I sat with my family, halfway back on the right. I like to get behind a pillar if I can. Francine walked over to sit with her family too.

  She smiled at me. She’d just got her braces off.

  “Larry’s got a girlfriend!” sang my little sister, Honor. “Larry’s got a girlfriend!”

  Like I didn’t have enough to deal with.

  KYLE: Okay, tell me about Francine Brabansky.

  LARRY: You know Francine. She’s in your homeroom.

  KYLE: Yeah, but I don’t mean that. I mean, suddenly she’s in the story, and we need to say something about her.

  LARRY: Oh, right. Well, her name’s Francine Brabansky and she lives on Cedar Street and she’s kind of a tomboy. She’s not the regular cheerleader type, you know. Not a princess. She doesn’t have perfect hair or clothes or anything. But she’s real good at gymnastics and she’s strong. Like, punch-you-and-knock-you-down strong. Well, not me. Michael Murphy, in third grade.

  Is that enough? I mean, she has a hamster and a brother named Bob. She likes lacrosse. She has her own stick. Her dad’s a mail carrier, I think.

  KYLE: Good enough.

  So Pastor Linda was reading announcements. There was going to be a yard sale, the choir was singing somewhere and Mr. Wiseman was in the hospital with a new hip. The whole time, people were still coming in. I guess it’s okay to be late for church. Maybe that’s because it’s on a weekend.

  Anyway, I stood up like we were supposed to as the organ started up for the first hymn. But something was going on. Even over the music, I could hear the word “BRAIIIINNNNSSSS!!!!!” which was not what you usually get at church. I turned around, but I couldn’t see anything because of the people in the pew behind. I tried to look around old Mrs. Suffecool, but my dad tapped me on my shoulder. “Pay attention!” He shoved a hymn book at me. Page 392. “Take Thou Our Minds, Dear Lord.”

  I could still hear it. This time it was “NNGAARRRGGGGHHH!!!!”

  Mrs. Suffecool snored a bit when Pastor Linda was giving the sermon, but she’s not a zombie. Someone else must be in here. I wracked my brains to figure out if any zombies I knew came to this church.

  You know what I mean.

  Of course. It had to be Mr. Phalen. He drives an ambulance. I could see him standing by the back row, stumbling forward. He was still wearing his uniform. It had a big, brown stain down the front.

  18

  Mr. Phalen was shambling up the aisle. Pastor Linda noticed him and smiled. Then she stopped smiling.

  I guess the organist noticed too, because she stopped playing right in the middle of the hymn. The organ made kind of a wheezing noise.

  “Pat Phalen!” called out Pastor Linda. “Pat! Are you alright?”

  I knew he wasn’t all right, being a zombie and all. But Pastor Linda’s an adult and—like I’ve said—the adults weren’t real on top of this whole zombie outbreak deal at all. I guess she thought he was sick or something.

  When I knew he was dead or something.

  I really like Pastor Linda. She’s real nice to us kids and never yells at us when we make noise or pinch each other while she’s talking. I didn’t want her to get bitten.

  But I knew she was going to. She’d come down out of the pulpit and ask Mr. Phalen what was wrong and maybe hug him. Which I think you’ll agree would be a real bad move at a time like this.

  He staggered on a step near the front of the church. Pastor Linda rushed forward to help him.

  I picked up my hymn book and threw it at Mr. Phalen. Rea
l hard.

  It hit him in the back of the head. He turned around and howled.

  “GGGRRRROOOOWWWWGGGHHHHH!!!!” Something like that, anyway.

  “What are you doing, Larry?” yelled my mom.

  “Larry! What is wrong with you?” shouted Dad, which I figured would get him in trouble with Mom later.

  Honor squealed.

  I threw another hymn book. Hit Mr. Phalen on the nose.

  I could have been a pitcher.

  I could be in trouble.

  Not just “grounded for a year” sort of In Trouble. I mean zombie ambulance driver coming right at me sort of In Trouble. Pastor Linda had her mouth open, but no words were coming out. Mr. Phalen had changed direction and was staggering back down the aisle toward me. Well, toward my whole family, plus the family in the row in front and the old lady ahead of them. We were all in a whole lot of trouble.

  “BRAIINNNSSS!!!!”

  I guess we knew what he wanted.

  It was then that Francine Brabinsky got in waaaay more trouble than me.

  You remember I told you she was strong?

  Francine ran up to the piano and grabbed the stool. It’s like solid oak and real heavy. Normally Mrs. Andrews would be sitting on it, which would be a problem, but she was up in the balcony playing the organ, so that was okay for Francine (because you don’t want to shove Mrs. Andrews off her stool, even for a real good reason). Anyway, she picked up the stool by the legs and ran back down the aisle with it like it was a fire-ax. Mr. Phalen was pretty much busy with the lurching and the grabbing and the howling, so he didn’t take any notice at all. The little old lady two rows ahead of us was hiding under her pew, and the family in front was just frozen in place.

  ZOMBIE TIP

  Chances are, no matter how much research you’ve done watching zombie movies, the first time someone smacks down a zombie right in front of you, you’ll feel queasy about the experience. This is totally normal. Don’t worry about it.