Zombie High

by Shawn Kass

  Hearing the sound, Mr. Mike immediately looks up, and upon spotting you, begins to advance. Staggering like other zombies or not, Mr. Mike’s long legs give him the advantage, and he is almost on you by the time Mr. Castle rushes in. It may be your imagination or perhaps your brain is playing tricks on you, but in the last half second, the one when Mr. Mike should have attempted to lean in so he could bite you, his eyes seemed to go blank, as if he lost his focus or forgot what he was about to do. That’s, however, as much as you think you saw, because Mr. Castle attacked.

  Leaning down, Mr. Castle grabs Mr. Mike’s legs out from under him and lifts. Off balance at first, and unable to see past the zombie’s flailing form, Mr. Castle continues to push forward until he runs into the extra-large Skutt ceramic kiln in the corner. Hitting the machine, Mr. Mike topples forward into its empty interior, and Mr. Castle quickly tries to slam down the lid. The lid, however, fails to close as one of Mr. Mike’s long legs hangs out, and there is an audible crack which can be heard as the bones in the leg snap under the force of the closing lid.

  Pissed and in a hurry, Mr. Castle raises the lid once more and shoves the broken leg down into the kiln. As he does so, Mr. Mike’s moans never seem to change. He doesn’t react when he’s shoved head first into the kiln. He doesn’t react when his leg is broken. He just keeps making the pitiful moans of desperate hunger which are only muffled when Mr. Castle finally gets the lid closed. As if to put emphasis on it all, Mr. Castle twists the dial to its hottest setting and flips the on switch before he says, “Come on, this place is about to get way too hot. We’ve got to go.”

  Following Mr. Castle, the two of you head back out into the hall and quickly run down the hall to the closet. When you get there, you stand as lookout while Mr. Castle pulls out the keys and gets the door open. At the far end of the hall, you spot a few zombies stumbling out of one of the rooms with wet thick blood and tissue dripping down the front of their shirts. Apparently, they must have just finished off their latest victim and realized that their next buffet, you and Mr. Castle, are about to get away.

  As he opens the door to go, Mr. Castle says, “Come on. Get inside now,” and you snap back to reality.

  Inside, you find all sorts of cleaning supplies, a sink with a large metal basin, and a couple of mops and brooms, one of which has a missing handle. As Mr. Castle steps in behind you and closes the door, you notice the ladder affixed to the wall leading up to a hatch in the ceiling. Without waiting to be told, you begin to climb.

  At the top, you have to bang on the hatch in a specific and familiar rhythm Mr. Castle called a “Shave and a Haircut” when he showed you. When you do, there are two knocks back, just like he said there would be which was to indicate that things were all clear, and then the hatch opens. Up top, two of the students from his group, a guy named Mark and a girl named Sam, help you through the hatch and onto the roof where you find Mrs. Gail sitting on a metal folding chair smoking a cigarette. You have no idea how she made it up here, nor how the chair got here, but you’re pleased to see that she made it.

  As Mr. Castle comes up through the hatch, you stand up and see a horde of zombies on the ground beneath you. They are on the lawn of the school and staggering up the street. It’s almost as if they can smell the fact that your group is the only one still alive in all of this. Clearly, anyone who was on foot never stood a chance out there.

  After about thirty minutes, most of the students sit on the roof, either crying or in shock at what they were just realizing was now the new world they lived in. Mr. Castle’s cell phone chirps. When he answers, you only catch his side of the conversation, but he says, “Yes, Sir. That’s right, I have twenty-nine, and I make thirty. Yes, Sir, we are in a secure location, but the area around us is teeming with the infected. Yes, Sir. We’ll be on the lookout.”

  When the call is over, he looks into our faces and says, “Help is on the way, but we’re going to need to stay together and find cover.” A few minutes later, while the group is ducking down near the school ventilation unit, an Apache helicopter begins its assault. At first, the helicopter is so high up, you can’t hear its engines. In fact, you aren’t even able to hear its guns as it begins to cycle through the ammunition, but you hear the sound of the impacts. All around the school, along the street and parking lot, the area is transformed into a furious storm of hellfire as eighteen hundred rounds per minute of twentyfive millimeter explosive rounds pummeled the ground tearing through zombies, vehicles, and pavement. If these things had been people, they would have taken cover. They would have demonstrated some sign of selfpreservation and sought shelter. These were zombies mindless, flesh eaters from hell who wanted nothing else but their next meal. They didn’t know what was happening. They only knew that you were the closest food source, and the disease or virus or whatever it was that reanimated them and turned them into this, drove them towards you, despite all obstacles.

  When it stops, another helicopter swoops in, a larger troop carrier sized kind you don’t recognize and sets down to land. You are just as eager as everyone else to get aboard, but you can’t help but walk over towards the edge to get a look at the devastation which was just brought down around the school. Nothing looks the same. It’s almost like one of those news reports you saw in history class about the Iraq war when Mrs. Barb talked about the role of the government. Stepping up next to you, Mr. Castle stops just off to your right side.

  Turning to look at him, you ask, “Will it ever be the same?”

  “No, not for you.” Confused, you begin to ask what he means and notice him taking a picture of you. That’s when he says, “Take a look,” and holds out his cell phone.

  Looking down, you see what he’s talking about. A thin pale film seems to have covered your eyes, and all around them, there are black colored veins beneath the skin. That’s when you realize, the zombie in the office, the one that you killed with the paper cutter handle, you got its infected blood and brains all over your face. Somehow, it must have gotten into your eyes, and it must have been slowly changing you ever since.

  Taking his phone back, Mr. Castle says, “I’m sorry,” but you barely register his words as his booted foot plants itself into your chest, kicking you off the roof Spartan style to the ground over two stories below where your head cracks open on impact.

  The End

  Don’t Help Mr. Castle, Get Back to Your Own Quest

  Thinking about your own plans and the things you have left to get, you say “I’m sorry, Mr. Castle. I promised some people I would get them some stuff first.”

  Coming back through the speaker, Mr. Castle says, “You don’t have to explain anything to me. The fact that you’re going out of your way to help others in all of this is more than enough. If you make it through all of this, we’ll be on the roof. You’re welcome to join us up there.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Castle.”

  Before signing off, he adds, “Good luck out there.” Clicking off the PA, you take a minute to try and

  come up with a plan. It’s pretty clear that making the announcement throughout the whole school didn’t do much, and since Mr. Castle was the only one to use the speaker system to talk back to you, it’s best to bet that there aren’t too many other people out there who are either willing or able to help. You also realize that trying to get through the mess of zombies in the nurse’s office is crazy without some sort of weapon. Granted, a gun would be nice, but since you’re in a school, it’s highly unlikely you’re going to just happen to find one. Too bad this isn’t one of those survival horror games like Left for Dead, or Resident Evil. People in those games come across weapons and boxes of ammunition everywhere: hospitals, churches, graveyards, and just left randomly out on the street. In a school, however, no one has a gun and there isn’t any ammunition just lying around.

  That’s when you come up with the next best thing.

  One of your English teachers, Mr. Beard, was a big time hunter. He even had a picture on the wall in his classroom of him
next to a giant black bear hanging upside down which he killed. The biggest deal about all of this was that he also used a bow and arrow which normally stayed in his Jeep, a Jeep which is always parked in the first spot closest to the door because of how early he gets to school every day. All you need to do is get to his Jeep. Then you’ll have a real weapon.

  With this thought in mind, and your feet already moving, you make it to the door and dart out into the hallway eager to get your hands on a real zombie killer. In your brain, you know there’s no way he’ll have a gun in his Jeep, not on school property, but you can’t help but contemplate some of the other things he might have: perhaps a machete, some rope, who knows, maybe a flare gun. The guy is like a survivalist hunter type, he could have anything in there. You’re so busy thinking about these possibilities and trying to get to his Jeep that you actually run right into him.

  As you stumble backwards bouncing off of his barrel chest, you realize that something didn’t feel right. Maybe it was the softness of his muscles, or the fact that his beard was wet with some sort of thick viscous fluid, but he wasn’t his normal self. That’s when you look up and meet the cold, blank stare of his new zombie eyes.

  You quickly scramble backwards trying to get back into the office, hoping you’ll be able to get to safety in there and lock the door when you feel his hands grab hold of your shirt. For just a second you hear the threads of your shirt begin to tear, and you think maybe it might rip far enough that you can get free, but that’s when you feel his teeth sinking into your exposed shoulder. You scream out in pain as he falls on top of you before his weight crushes the air out from your lungs, and as you bleed out, you remind yourself: You never wanted to join his Dead Poet Society club when you were alive.

  The End

  Go to the Science Labs for First Aid Kit

  From here at the teachers’ lounge, you’ll need to make your way back down to the first floor near the entrance in order to get to the science labs. The labs themselves are their own room, standing between two of the science rooms with doors inside leading to each of them. One of the rooms is used by Mr. Tibbs, and the other room is used by Mr. Ray. Mr. Tibbs is really nice, and he jokes around with the students a lot, but after what happened at the front door this morning, there’s no telling what kind of mood he’ll be in, or if he’ll be human at all. Mr. Ray, while nice in his own way, is more like the nerdy Sheldon from that TV show. He teaches physics, advanced chemistry, and human anatomy. He’s also the kind of guy you know is a genius, but that in itself is enough to make you a little scared of him when he’s in a lab.

  With this in mind, you take off for the first floor, careful to tread lightly through the halls so as not to draw any extra attention to yourself from the creatures that surely want to eat your flesh. When you reach the stairs, you find yourself thinking about some of the stories Mr. Ray told your class about the things he had made in the past. Clearly, one of the man’s favorite items was a walking stick he carved himself. The way he told it, he had rigged up a Taser somehow at one end which he could point at a person and make them drop to the ground twitching, and on the bottom, he dug out a section and installed a metal spike which could pop out with something over five hundred pounds of force. There were other things he mentioned in class, stuff that involved chemicals he would never let you touch but that he got since he could pretty much buy whatever he wanted as a teacher. Needless to say, however, if he was capable of making stuff like that, maybe he would be able to make you some things. That would take care of the weapons and the first aid kit all in one shot.

  As you reach the first floor, visions of you as James Bond with Mr. Ray as Q float through your head, and you find yourself already wondering what kind of cool gadgetry he might be able to outfit you with. It’s because of these thoughts occupying your mind that you step right out into the hall without thinking to check for zombies first. Luckily, you catch sight in your peripherals of someone down the other corridor, and you stop to see who it is. From about a hundred feet away, you can already tell that whoever it is isn’t aware of you, and it’s a good thing. Down the hall just a foot away from the right wall like a statue that’s been misplaced, a zombie stands perfectly still staring intently at the school’s logo painted on the side of the cinderblock. Not wanting to be spotted, you check your left and behind you and then slowly step back towards the stairs. That’s when your shoes break the tranquil silence of the hallway by squeaking on the floor.

  Looking to your right, your inner worst thoughts are rewarded with the confirmation of being correct once again as you see the zombie who was content to stare at the wall a moment ago now almost running towards you. Giving up on the idea on a retreat to the stairs, something that obviously wouldn’t help you in the long run as you want to get to that first aid kit, you make a break for the science labs.

  Running down the hall, you are able to put some distance between you and the uncoordinated creature who’s after you, but you know that if you can’t get to safety quickly, you’ll end up on its cannibalistic dinner plate. Panting by the time you get there, you begin to knock loudly on the door of the science lab. Your knocks not receiving the immediate attention that you’re hoping for, you move down the hall and begin to knock on Mr. Ray’s classroom door. From the other side, you hear some movement and the sound of some furniture being moved, and for just a second, you think that perhaps Mr. Ray was turned as well, and he is in there just stumbling around his own room. With that in mind, you

  unconsciously begin to take a couple steps back, your body now preparing to flee, when you hear a voice ask, ”Have you been bitten?”

  Recognizing Mr. Ray’s voice, you answer, “No, Mr. Ray, but I’m going to be if you don’t hurry and let me in.” With one more loud scraping sound coming from the other side of the door, you notice that the zombie is now only a few feet away, and it looks like the noises have somehow managed to entice it to move quicker. Still considering the option of running, you hold out for two more seconds before you see the door begin to slowly open before you. Reaching forward, you grab the handle and yank it open, ripping it from Mr. Ray’s grip, just in time for it to slam into the zombie’s face as it lunges for you. The impact doesn’t kill the zombie, but it does stop it in its tracks long enough for you to dive inside and for Mr. Ray to quickly close the door behind you.

  Safely inside, you begin to look around and notice that the room seems to be pretty full. Along the wall where the door is, there are several book shelves, cabinets, and desks, all of which were apparently hastily moved out of the way just so that you could get in. The rest of the room, now devoid of some its furnishings, has other students. Recognizing a few of them, including the school’s valedictorian and a handful whom you’ve seen milling around Mr. Ray’s room after school, you realize that Mr. Ray must have had a class in session, like Miss Millstone, when the lockdown went into effect.

  Behind you, Mr. Ray and two other students finish pushing some of the furniture back into place before Mr. Ray steps over to you and asks, “Are you sure you haven’t been bitten?”

  Holding out your arms for him to see, you say, “No, Mr. Ray. I’m clean.”

  Tilting his head, Mr. Ray says, “If it were only that easy.” Then shaking his head, as if to dismiss the thought, Mr. Ray says, “Anyway, I’m glad you made it. Can you tell us what it’s like out there?”

  Thinking about it for a second, you say, “Think about the zombie movies you’ve seen. Pretty much like that, but the good thing is we still seem to be in the beginning part because they zombies are slow, well, kind of slow, and they don’t seem to be able to do much more than attack the closest living person and eat them.”

  Latching on to the end of your comment, Mr. Ray asks, “So you’ve seen them attack someone?”

  Shrugging, you say, “Well, yeah. I mean there was the stuff with Mr. Tibbs by the entrance this morning, lots of people saw that, and then while I was in Miss Millstone’s class, a zombie attacked.”

 
; “Okay, so what happened in Miss Millstone’s?” asks Mr. Ray in a strangely clinical voice which made it sound like you were at the doctors being interviewed about when a fungus infection on one of your toenails began.

  “Well, we went into lockdown, and then there was a knocking or something at the door. When Millstone answered it, the zombie attacked her and started biting into her.”

  Holding up a finger, Mr. Ray asks, “You said there was a knocking. Can you describe it?”

  Thinking of this as a strange question, you try to recall exactly what you heard and answer, “Well, it was like a knock, but not exactly. It was kind of squishy sounding, like maybe the zombie was walking into the door and hitting it with his face.”

  Nodding as if this confirms something he was already thinking, he says, “Okay, what else?”

  Shrugging your left shoulder, you say, “That’s it. When the zombie attacked, I recognized it for what it was and got the heck out of there. I tried going up the hall to get help, but no one was around, and when I finally found somebody in the teachers’ lounge, they said I had to bring them some stuff before they would let me in.”

  From the other side of the room, Mackie, one of the seniors you recognize, stands up from the microscope he’s been fiddling with and says, “Mr. Ray, I think I’ve found it.”

  Looking back, almost as if he forgot Mackie was in the room, Mr. Ray says, “Oh, good, let me see,” before he steps away from you, seemingly satisfied with your answers and the story of how you made it to his room.

  Not knowing what else to do, you follow him and ask, “What are you looking at?”

  Answering you, Mackie says, “It’s a parasite. Mr. Ray thinks it’s what’s causing the zombies.”

  Curious, you ask, “Really? Where did you guys get it? Did you capture one of the zombies or something?”

  Looking down, Mackie says, “No. Nothing like that.”