Zombie High

by Shawn Kass

  Looking back down to the coins in your hand, you know there is no way you can afford more than one thing, and yet, choosing one seems impossible. That’s when you hear the voice from the machine say, “You know with zombies out there ready to eat your flesh, I don’t think now is really the time for you to be all that choosy.”

  Startled, you look around and finding no one ask, “Who’s there?”

  From behind the machine, you see Jake poke his head out, and say, “Relax, man, it’s just me.”

  Stepping around, you see that he has set himself up with a little hideaway spot behind the machines by pushing them away from the wall just enough that his thin frame can fit back there. At the bottom of the drink machine, you see that he has somehow removed the metal backing, and that there is just enough room for him to curl up into a tight ball, if he needs to. Right now, however, the space is lit up by the machine’s internal lights which illuminate the logo on the front. On the ground near the opening, he has a notebook and several pencils laid out, and it looks like he’s been sketching some of the things he’s seen today.

  Nodding your chin towards the spot, you ask, “You making camp down there?”

  Shrugging his shoulders, he says, “Seemed like as safe a place as any. A couple of those things came by and for whatever reason they didn’t find me, so I figured I might as well stay.”

  “How long have you been back there?” you ask.

  “About an hour, I guess. I ducked in here as soon as I saw that thing attack Mr. Tibbs. No one wanted to believe me when I said it was a zombie, but trust me, that thing was one.”

  Thinking back to Miss Millstone’s class, you say, “Yeah, I had a similar problem.”

  “So, what are you doing down here?” asks Jake.

  Answering him honestly, you say, “I found some people upstairs in the teachers’ lounge. It looks like they got the place pretty secure, and I think there’s a phone in there. They said I can get in if I bring them some supplies.”

  “Think they’ll have room for one more?”

  “Don’t know, probably. They just said to bring them stuff, and they’d let me in.”

  Looking down to your hand, Jake says, “Well, I don’t think that’s going to be enough money to buy enough stuff for too many people.”

  Snorting, you say, “Yeah, I was just coming to the same conclusion.”

  “If I help you, you think you can talk them into letting me in?”

  “Sure,” you agree. At this point, any help would be better than running around the school alone.

  “Cool, give me a second, and I’ll get you all the stuff you want from the machine.”

  Figuring that Jake was going to do something in the back to trick the machine into giving you free food, you decide to run down to one of the open lockers and grab a book bag to carry it all in. The trip down to the closest locker and back only takes a few seconds, and although the backpack you find turns out to be an ugly lime green color, you figure who cares, as long as it carries the food. When you return, you kneel down in front of the machine and prepare to reach in and start grabbing up all of the goodies.

  From behind the machine, Jake asks, “You ready?”

  “Yup, bring on the snacks,” you answer.

  It’s about five seconds later that you realize that you should have asked for a bit more details about what Jake was planning. Somehow, Jake managed to climb his way up to the top portion of the machine, and was at this moment pushing with his legs against the wall, while you, having no idea of what was about to happen, continue to kneel there waiting for the sweet and salty rain of heavenly junk food. It’s at the six second mark that you recognize your error. Unfortunately, it’s about two seconds too late, because as the seventh second passes, you find yourself being crushed beneath the weight of the machine Jake just managed to tip over.

  To be fair, the machine’s weight was heavy, and while alone it would most certainly have pinned you in place, with Jake there, the two of you do have the combined strength to lift it high enough that you can slide out. Guess that means you have another choice to make.

  If you want Jake to help you lift it, turn to page ……… 322 If you want to ask Jake to go for help, turn to page …. 325

  Lift the Machine

  “Holy…I didn’t know you were there. I’m so sorry,” says Jake. “Ah, crap. I thought you were standing back, and we would just raid the machine once it was down. Tell me what I can do to help.”

  You never were one for the heavy grunting and sweating associated with weight lifting class. Something about that ringworm picture in your biology book just burned its way into your brain, and you frankly didn’t want to risk it knowing how often some of these guys around here shower. Knowing that, however, you figure if Jake helps you, you should be able to lift the snack machine off your chest enough that you can slide your way out.

  Looking up to him, you try to pull in some air despite the weight on your chest and ask, “How much do you think you can lift?”

  “I….I don’t know,” answers Jake, having been put on the spot. “I mean, I know I can’t lift this whole thing if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  “Well, kind of. I was thinking…if I push up while you lift, I might be able to slide out.”

  Tilting his head, Jake finally shrugs and says, “It’s worth a try, at least.”

  Getting on one side, Jake bends over at the hips and asks, “Ready?”

  Catching his mistake, you say, “You’re going to kill your back like that. You need to bend at the knees and keep your spine neutral.”

  Looking down at his straight legs and then at the machine, Jake says, “I don’t think it’s going to matter where I bend, this thing is going to be heavy,” before changing his stance and bending like he should.

  Counting down, you say, “Three…two…one…lift,” letting the last word come out with a grunt.

  You feel the machine roll across your chest, and it feels like it’s broken your sternum the way the pain in your chest flares up. Together, however, the two of you are able to lift it just enough, and you begin to slide out while Jake holds it in place.

  By the time you’re halfway out, Jake’s arms and legs are shaking, and you know something else is wrong. For some reason, you can’t feel your right leg as you try to crawl out from beneath the machine. That’s when you notice the blood.

  Apparently, when the machine fell, the glass from the display window broke, and a piece went into your leg, severing both your femorial artery and the nerves around the area. You try to reach out, not sure if you should pull it out or not, when Jake says, “I can’t hold it much longer.”

  Forgetting the glass for a second, you squirm out just in time before Jake’s fingers give out, and the machine falls heavily to the floor, leaving a thick trail of blood as you go. While you would like to blame it on the adrenaline, you know that despite the fact that it’s only been a little while you’re already feeling the effects of the blood loss. That’s how you know it’s more than serious. Looking to Jake, you say, “I don’t think I’m going to make it, man.”

  Panting from his exertions, he starts saying, “Don’t be dramatic. I’m sure you’re…,” before he really looks at you and stops mid-sentence and says, “Oh crap! What happened?”

  “Piece of glass, go get help.”

  “Okay, I’ll get the nurse,” says Jake just before he goes running off.

  You have no idea if Jake ever found the nurse. You hope that he did, and you also hope he made his way up to the teachers’ lounge, and everyone got rescued. Unfortunately, you’ll never know because you bleed out less than a minute after Jake disappeared down the hall.

  The End

  Send Jake to Go Get Help

  Coming around the fallen machine, Jake says, “Oh crap, I’m sorry. I had no idea you were down there. I thought you knew I was planning to tip it so we could just get everything and that’s why you went to get a bag.” Kneeling down, Jake continues with, “Wwhat ca
n I do?”

  Considering the weight of the machine and the fact that it’s been forever since you lifted any kind of real weight, you doubt that even with Jake’s help the two of you will be able to move it. Looking down into the darkened area beneath the machine, you try to wiggle your legs to see if there is any way you can get any purchase and maybe slide out, but you find nothing. Ultimately, you give up and say, “Jake, I’m going to need you to go get some help.”

  “Help?” asks Jake.

  “Yeah, help. This thing is crushing me and no offense but I doubt you’re going to be able to lift it off me.”

  “Yeah, I got that, but help from where? The zombies are everywhere, and I have no idea where to go.”

  Sucking in a short breath through your teeth as a spasm of pain shoots up your body, you say, “Doesn’t matter. Anyone will do. Just get some help and come back, man.”

  “Okay, I’ll go. Maybe one of the teachers or a nurse is still available.”

  “Just hurry. It’s getting hard to breathe under here,” comes your short response.

  With that, Jake takes off running down the hall, leaving you to count the holes in the ceiling tiles until he comes back. When you reach one-hundred the thought occurs to you that having him running around the school alone and unarmed might not have been the best decision, but you hold out hope that he’s okay and bringing back help. Moving onto the second tile, you find the number has grown to over three hundred fifty, and your thought is more like a real concern, but there isn’t much you can do about it now. When you reach the fifth tile and your eyes begin to strain against the blurriness and the count is over a thousand, you finally find that your concern has been ratcheted up to fear. With nothing else to do, you decide to try to reach into the machine and grab something to eat to help take your mind off things.

  Feeling around in the darkened machine, you find some chips, what kind you have no idea, but you reach to pull them out anyway. That’s when your fingers slip. They don’t slip because the bag is wedged in or caught on something, they slip because there is something wet on the bag. Pulling your hand back, you realize why your eyes are blurry and where that coppery smell is coming from. You’re bleeding.

  Somehow, when the machine fell, the glass display window broke, and a shard of glass must have stuck in your leg. You can’t feel it, which is good, but according to your health teacher it’s supposed to be a sign of a far more serious injury. Thankfully, you hear the sound of someone coming back up the hall, and you call out, “Jake, is that you?”

  What comes back is not the response you were hoping for. Instead of Jake’s familiar voice, you hear the low hungry moan of the creature just before it turns the corner. Now in view, you recognize the zombie for the person he used to be, Edgar.

  Unable to move, you know that there is no way you’ll be able to defend yourself, and with you bleeding out the way you are, whatever defense you might have been able to muster is getting weaker by the minute. Apparently though, despite being on the verge of death, you seem to be more than enough alive for Edgar because he quickens his pace as he approaches. Your final prayer is that it will be quick, but being a zombie, Edgar doesn’t understand your request and simply starts by slowly chewing off your face, beginning with your right cheek.

  Up the hall, Jake returns, and he has Mr. Castle with him, ready to lift the machine and save you, but when they spot Edgar already on his knees eating your flesh, Mr. Castle holds out an arm to stop Jake and whispers, “Sorry. It looks like we’re too late.”

  “Is there anything we can do?” asks Jake.

  “Going down there just puts us at risk to end up like your friend. Let the zombie have him. It’s one less for us to contend with,” says Mr. Castle before turning around and heading back to whatever safe haven he has set up.

  The End

  Go Back into the School

  Taking a quick minute to try to stretch and work the pain out of your leg, you notice that something is missing. It takes you several seconds to realize what it is, but eventually you recognize that the area around you is strangely silent. No birds chirp from the tree branches near you, no dogs bark from the houses and yards surrounding the school, nothing. It’s as if all of the animals received a memo which humans were not privy to, a memo which states that you are now all on the bottom of the food chain, prey, and there is a new, more deadly, threat in town.

  Not wanting to wait around any longer to find out just how bad things may have gotten, you begin to hobble away from the spot you’ve been standing in, and find that even with your efforts to reduce the pain and stretch the muscle, things still hurt too much to get you very far, very fast. Reluctantly, you admit that your best bet at this point is to go back into the school and get some help.

  Dragging your leg in a limping fashion, you begin to make your way around to the front of the school. As you round the corner, however, you spot several figures stumbling their way across the street, heading from the church towards your location. One of them, an older man, walks like he’s at the supermarket the way he leans on his walker with the little tennis balls on it. Not wanting to be outside when they eventually get over here, you try to pick up the speed, wincing with every step as you make your best effort to hustle to the front entrance.

  When you get there, you find that the doors are locked as usual, and you have to ring the bell to wait for someone in the office to buzz you in. You know there will be questions, particularly how and why you’re outside the building, but as long as you get to talk to someone in charge and get some help for both your leg and the people up in Miss Millstone’s class, then it doesn’t matter. You press the button next to the door twice, staring up into the camera mounted on the wall the whole time, hoping that you’ll be recognized and let in the building quickly, but nothing happens. No bells, no buzzes, no one talking through a speaker, and you start to assume that because they called for the lockdown that they are not answering the door. Then you realize the other potential. Maybe they’re not answering because they can’t. Maybe the zombies are inside the office too.

  With that in mind, you turn around, intent on running or at least hobbling away, only to realize that you are now surrounded. Zombified geriatrics have come in at you from not only the church across the street, but from the parking lot as well. If you were in better shape and hadn’t hurt your leg, you could probably just blast right through them, or at least run in between their scattered line, but with the turtle’s pace you have going for yourself, your options are severely limited. Not wanting to be a defeatist, however, you muster up whatever courage and moxie you have left and pick the route that looks like it will be the most successful.

  Aiming for the old guy with the walker and avoiding the gray haired woman with the track suit on, you figure you’ll have a better chance of breaking through. From there, you hope you can stay ahead of them long enough to get to the house next door where someone will let you in. Using your leg more than you know you should, you push off and put as much speed into your escape as you can. Unfortunately, it turns out to be a paltry five miles per hour, and the old people close in quick. The first one that gets her hands on you tries to bite at your arm, the one you’ve been swinging back and forth to try to maintain your balance. You almost laugh, however, as you find that all she is able to do is dampen it with her spit because she has no teeth, and it’s just gums which she’s attacking you with. Her dentures either fell out, or she forgot to put them in this morning. Either way, you avoid becoming infected for a little bit longer. The real problem she does pose is that now that she has your arm, she won’t let go, and you need it to stay upright.

  You try to struggle with her to pull your arm free, but by the time you do, you find the gentleman with the walker standing in your way. In your haste to get out of there, you knock over the man and then manage to somehow get your own foot caught up in his overturned walker. The drag it puts on you sends you sprawling into the grass, and you soon find the elderly are nothing to me
ss with when they’re hungry.

  Four individuals who probably couldn’t climb a flight of stairs without an oxygen tank, now seem superhuman in both strength and stamina. They begin clawing at you and pulling on your clothes, desperate to get to your flesh even as you try to push them away. At one point, you manage to get a foot up underneath someone whom children probably called grandma and kick her sideways into the grass. A sight that might have been funnier if it hadn’t been for the fact that while desperate to get at you, she managed to take your shoe with her when she flew back.

  The fighting continues for at least five minutes as you attempt to crawl away only to have to stop and throw some geezer off you before you get more than a few feet. Eventually, you feel yourself tiring, and the pain from your leg take its toll. That’s when things start really going downhill. It’s while you are on your knees pushing against the tracksuit wearing woman that you feel another one of the elderly folks crawl over and take a huge bite out of your right calf muscle. The pain sends a scream out of your mouth loud enough to tear at your own throat as it escapes, and then sends you to the ground reeling. With that, the tides turn, and the zombies begin their feast.