Adventures of a Middle School Zombie

by Scott Craven

  But I also found out most people don’t lose a bit of skin when they shower, and that their limbs are attached more firmly than even the strongest duct tape could achieve.

  I asked how this all happened to me. Was I an experiment? Did aliens drop me off? Did Mom smoke something weird when she was pregnant with me?

  This is what I found out.

  Mom and Dad were real happy when they found out they were going to have me, and not just because their golden retriever, Aspen, had just died.

  “What, they had you because their dog died?” Anna said.

  “I thought that at first, but my mom said the dog had nothing to do with it, so I believe her.”

  I went on.

  While she was pregnant, Mom went to the doctor a ton of times because I was difficult. I kept flipping in these weird positions, and for the last month, Mom had to stay in bed so she wouldn’t hurt me. And one day it was time.

  Mom was hooked to a machine that checked her heartbeat and made sure everything was OK. And other wires were stuck to her stomach to see how I was doing.

  And I wasn’t doing well at all.

  Dad knew there was something wrong when the nurse went out real quick and, just a minute later, came back in with the doctor. He didn’t say anything; he just looked at the machine that was keeping track of me. He flipped a switch, hit it a few times, flipped the switch again. Dad got pretty upset. Mom was doing OK on account of some medicine they’d given her not long after they put her in the room.

  Things got frantic. The doctor asked for a shot of di-oxy-getthebabyout, or something like that. It wasn’t too long before the doctor was holding me. And Dad noticed real fast that I wasn’t crying. Or breathing. Or doing anything but lying there.

  Then I was just gone. The doctor took me out of the room and Dad was just told to wait, that there were “complications” and that they would let him know what was going on as soon as possible.

  Then, about twenty minutes later, the doctor returned, and I was in his arms, wrapped tightly in blankets. He told my Dad I was dead. My mom was still pretty whacked-out on the meds, and all she heard was Dad screaming, “Dead? He’s dead? Dead?”

  My mom thought she heard “Jed” and liked the name.

  “Ah, that is so cute,” Anna said.

  “Maybe, until you realize you’re a zombie and wish you didn’t have a name that rhymed with dead.”

  “I can see that,” Anna said.

  I got back to the story and told Anna how things had gotten really weird when the doctor left and Dad was holding what he thought was a deceased infant.

  I moved. Dad was so startled he almost dropped me.

  I looked normal and everything seemed fine. But Dad was still a little worried about the dead part. At that point he didn’t trust anyone at the hospital, so he got Mom dressed and they got out of there, taking me with them.

  I told Anna all about the tests, doctors, injections, and probes. I didn’t tell her about how they used to pluck skin samples in my sleep, about waking with notches up and down my arms and legs. Or about how I routinely underwent surgeries without anesthesia, or about the one time I overheard a doctor say, “It’s not like we can kill him, right? And if he’s no longer animated when we’re done, then we can begin the real work.”

  “Then one day it just ended,” I said. “My mom and dad said no more doctors, no more hospitals, no more tests.”

  “And that was it?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “And no one knows how—”

  “Well, if it isn’t the Dead and the Dark.”

  Robbie. With, as usual, Ben and Joe.

  “Oh my God, it’s Captain Heldback and the Underachieving Squad,” Anna said. Am I smiling? I thought. Please don’t let me be smiling.

  “Look at the goth girl with the big mouth,” Robbie said. “And what are you smiling at, Z-boy?”

  “Put that grin away, or I’ll do it for you,” Ben and/or Joe said.

  “Between the three of you, you just might be able to put up an IQ higher than a stick vac,” Anna said. “But it would be close. And a stick vac still would be more useful.”

  I was pretty sure Anna hadn’t noticed, but Robbie was clenching and unclenching his fists.

  “DJ, I know you’re about the wussiest kid in school, but you may want to tell your girl here to shut it,” Robbie said.

  “If you’re speaking to me, then speak to me,” Anna said. “If you can handle actually talking to a girl.”

  Robbie’s eyes narrowed, and his fists were not opening and closing anymore. They were closed. And the right one was now at waist level.

  Suddenly I was outside my body again, talking to the worthless hunk of meat just standing there. Jed, you gonna say anything? Because if there was ever a time to man up, this is probably it.

  “We got a problem here?” Mr. Stanzer stepped between Anna and Robbie. “I said, is there a problem here? Robbie?”

  “Nope, not here, we’re just chilling out.”

  “Then I suggest you chill out anywhere but here, Robbie.”

  Robbie merely cocked his head, apparently imbecile for “Let’s go,” and the three of them walked away, wordlessly.

  “Thanks, Mr. Stanzer,” Anna said. “Those guys are the biggest jerks in school.”

  “No problem. I’ve always got an eye out for them. Robbie especially. But,” Mr. Stanzer said, looking at me, “the other teachers and I can’t be there all the time. So, Jed, you may want to be careful.”

  He said, “Jed, be careful.” Not, “Jed and Anna, be careful.” Or “Anna, be careful.” Nope, just good ole Dead Jed.

  “One more thing,” he said, still looking at me. “Nice dancing.”

  Mr. Stanzer left as quietly as he had arrived, and all I really wanted to do was get the hell out of there.

  “Anna, I’m a little tired,” I said. “You know, the dance, my condition and all. Would you mind if we headed out?”

  “No, not at all,” she said. “That’s fine.”

  Only it wasn’t fine. And it would never be fine. Same stuff, different day.

  “Let’s just go say goodbye to your friends,” Anna said. “Don’t want to be rude.”

  “Sure, yeah.”

  The dance floor was still just about empty, and we made our way across. Then I heard it—the creaking door, the echoing footsteps, the thunderclap, the howl of a wolf. By the time the drum and synthesizer joined, I was the only one looking at the table where the DJ was spinning tunes.

  There was Robbie, returning my gaze.

  “Oh my God,” Anna said, knowing the song as well. “You have got to be kidding me.”

  It was Michael Jackson’s “Thriller”—the King of Pop singing the song behind the King of Zombie Videos.

  I stood there, frozen in the glare of expectant gazes. What was the zombie gonna do, just stand there?

  “Jed, let’s go.”

  Silence.

  “Jed, c’mon.”

  “ … ”

  “Jed, you do not have to take this.”

  My left foot went out, stomped. Two steps, stomp. Hands out front in claws, swinging in time to the music. Four steps left, swinging zombie arms, four steps right, swinging zombie arms.

  What, you thought I hadn’t had this dance memorized since I was, like, five? “Thriller” was one of the greatest pop-culture moments in zombie history. Flesh-eating, brain-seeking zombies replaced by zombies who knew how to get down.

  There was Luke beside me, my “Thriller” student. Then Chris and Josh. Anna joined in, trying to keep up with the steps. Pretty soon we were about a dozen strong when it came to the signature “stomp in a circle” move.

  When it was over, Robbie was gone. And I was no longer in any mood to leave.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “I’ll take Bryson.”

  “OK, Cole, you’re over here.”

  “Dustin.”

  “Bob.”

  “Jordan.”

  “The othe
r Jordan.”

  All semester I’d been avoiding the horror of the playground draft. Luke and I stayed to ourselves mostly, shooting hoops after lunch. Or throwing the football. Or sitting in the shade up against the media center.

  But today, Luke had insisted on joining the lunchtime football game, a daily ritual in which athletes impressed their cheerleader girlfriends, and bullies got in cheap shots on whichever target they had chosen (the prey either didn’t cough up a few bucks at lunch, or wore colors that matched, or simply made the unfortunate decision to wake up and go to school).

  “C’mon, it’ll be fun, just this once,” Luke said as we finished lunch.

  “But why?”

  “You need to trust me on this,” he said. “Just go along today. Then we’ll go back to the usual.”

  And there I was, among the last three kids. Like I didn’t know where this was going.

  “I got G-Ray.”

  “Dang, man, don’t we got enough?” said Dwight, looking over at his girlfriend, Chelsea, and winking. If Dwight weren’t so good-looking and athletic—his goal was to be an underwear model someday—he’d have about as many friends as I did. The reason he was a C student, he was fond of saying, was because he did F work with A looks.

  Seriously. He even tweeted it.

  The other kid picking, Javon, shook his head as he looked over the remainders. He was by far the coolest kid in school because he was six-foot-one, could throw a football sixty yards, and was rumored to have been arrested when he was five for beating up a thirteen-year-old who was picking on his brother—his older brother. Was it true? Who cared, people believed it.

  “Everyone gets to play,” he said, nodding in the direction of the basketball courts. “Besides, you know what Ballshack Bob would say. We’d lose checkout privileges.”

  “Yeah, but that was before we started letting in dead guys.”

  “Stupid breathbag,” I muttered.

  “Wow, Dwight has a problem with someone who’s different, who knew?” Javon said, and—thank God—almost everyone laughed. Joining Dwight in Camp Glum were Robbie and his wingmen. Of course.

  “I’ll take Jed,” Javon said. “You can have Ziggy.”

  Ziggy suffered the unfortunate circumstance of looking like that old-fashioned cartoon character who was short and very round. The connection was made by Dwight, who posted on Facebook a photo of Ziggy next to the cartoon Ziggy, and underneath wrote, “Separated at birth.” Cruel, but funny.

  And since Ziggy’s real name was Arden (yes, Fartin’ Arden in first grade), he thought the Ziggy name was a blessing.

  “No, you can have Ziggy,” Dwight said. “We’re good.”

  “Fine,” Javon said. “We got more guys, so we’ll kick off.”

  That fine display of sportsmanship saved the customary five minutes of shouted arguments that usually marked the start of each game.

  As we walked to our side of the field, I went up to Luke (who had managed to be picked around fourth or so, way above his talent level, by Javon, who seemed to stifle a laugh when he made the pick).

  “Why are we doing this?” I said. “You know what’s going to happen. As soon as Robbie gets a chance, I’m deader than I already am.”

  “No, I’ve got your back,” Luke said.

  “You’ve got my back? Really. You’ve got my back.”

  “No problem.”

  “You’ll be lying on your back before you have the chance to get mine.”

  “Turn around, we’re kicking off.”

  And so we were. Javon sent the ball sailing into the clear blue, a thing of beauty. When it fell to earth, Dwight was there to catch it and got three steps before Javon two-hand-touched him for the tackle.

  As the tradition of playground football dictates, the lousy kids did little more than block on offense and rush the quarterback on defense, while the good kids ran and passed and covered. It was easy enough to avoid the fray as those on the line, equally lacking talent, fought to a draw each play.

  And so it went for ten minutes, and the score seemed fairly even. We had the ball at midfield or so and, as usual, I waited at the line for another chance to throw a half-hearted block or two while making sure I was far from Robbie.

  But this time, it was Luke trotting to the line to snap the ball. Luke was just to the right of Javon in the backfield.

  I waved, shaking my head. Playing on the line was a great way to avoid attention. But in the backfield, you were in the line of fire.

  Suddenly I was on my butt, knocked backward before I realized the ball had been snapped. But that happened to give me a great view of what happened next. Javon flipped the ball behind him to Luke, the two of them running to the left. Just before they hit the line of scrimmage, Luke stopped and backpedaled as Javon continued straight, lowering his head and nailing Robbie at chest level, the two of them hitting the ground.

  I don’t know if it was football basics or a weird maternal instinct, but Joe, about five yards downfield, saw what happened and charged Luke, lowering his head, intent on evening the score.

  I couldn’t watch. And I couldn’t turn away.

  A part of me was looking ahead to when paramedics arrived, wondering if I would be able to say anything to Luke but “I told you so.”

  I expected Luke to run out of bounds. He wouldn’t escape the hit, but he could make it a glancing blow. Instead, he stood his ground, drawing back his arm.

  Oh no, he was going to pass. And in doing so, leave his entire body open.

  Joe was closing in rapidly, determined to take Luke into next week. And that was when Luke let it fly.

  I always knew he had a pretty good arm. With that wiry build, he could really snap it and get some power behind it.

  But I had no clue how accurate he could be.

  The ball spiraled perfectly without a hint of wobble. And it burned through the air, a groin-seeking missile that struck its target squarely with a disquieting thump.

  Joe, who a split second before had been 150 pounds of hurtling fury, hit the ground like 150 pounds of cherry Jell-O, hands wedged between his legs.

  “… ! … ! … !” Joe screamed. Or tried to scream. His mouth moved, but nothing came out.

  At the same time, Robbie was picking himself up off the deck and hustling over to his friend. He knelt down beside him.

  “Dude, you’re going to be OK, just breathe,” he said.

  “(Squeak).” I am really sure Joe was trying to squeeze out a few curse words, but first his nuts were going to have to return to their original position. And that was going to take a while.

  Robbie popped up and took a step toward Luke, but Javon appeared out of nowhere and stood between the two. “Not today, Robbie,” he said.

  Robbie took a step backward as if to size up the situation. He knew Javon was one of the few kids in school who could give him a good fight.

  “Part of the game,” Javon continued. “It happens. Just an incomplete pass, so it’s third down.” Javon looked at Luke, then turned to the rest of the team as we returned to our side of the ball. “Huddle up.”

  Robbie stood where he was until Dwight tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Huddle up,” Dwight said.

  Instead, Robbie returned to Joe. “Get up.”

  Joe, who was just starting to breathe again, didn’t move.

  “I said, get up,” Robbie said, grabbing Joe under his shoulder and yanking him to his feet. “Suck it up. Don’t be such a wuss.”

  He pulled Joe toward the rest of his team, Joe limping, still cradling his privates. “Dude, just let me sit out a play or two.”

  “No, ain’t gonna happen, we’re already a man down, get it together.” Robbie shoved him, sending Joe right back to the ground.

  The bell rang. Robbie gave everyone a look that said, “This game is not over.” But it was. The bell told us so. When he realized he was going to be the only one still on the field, he stepped over Joe and headed back to class.

  “Luke, what the hel
l,” I said as we left the field.

  “Pretty cool, huh?” he said, smiling.

  “But what just happened?”

  “Javon came to me last week since he knew you and I were friends. He overheard Robbie and Joe and Ben talking about putting the hurt on the Zom-boy, or something like that. They were planning it for today, after school. Javon asked me if I wanted to do something to put them off their game.”

  “So this whole thing was planned?”

  “Oh yeah. Javon was keeping an eye on how they were playing defense and figured out when it would best to run. So when I went to that last huddle, Javon said ‘Nutjob’ and I knew what it was. We were the only ones. He just told everyone else to go deep.”

  “You weren’t scared?”

  “A little. But I’ve been practicing. Throwing the football through a tire from about ten feet. As hard as I could.”

  “How did you even think of something like that?”

  “Javon saw it in a football movie. The Longest Pass or something like that. There was this big dude killing the other team, so the quarterback says to go ahead and let that guy in, and just when he—”

  “Hey, wait up!”

  Looking behind me, I saw Javon lift Joe to his feet, then he jogged over to us.

  “Luke, man, that pass was dead-on,” Javon said.

  “Thanks. I knew it was kill or be killed at that point.”

  “Why did you do it?” I said. My eyes met Javon’s. “What’s it to you?”

  “Weird, right? When I heard them talking about it, I thought it was pretty uncool. But I walked away without saying a word. You know, whatever happens, happens.

  “But,” he said, putting his hand on my shoulder, “I know what it’s like to be singled out. To only want to fit in because you’re so tired of being noticed. Not for what you do, just for what you look like.”

  I didn’t want to believe it. “I thought we were past all that. This isn’t the sixties.”

  “No, it’s not. But yeah, around here I’ve felt alone sometimes. Almost isolated. Until I made a choice. If I wasn’t going to blend in, then I was going to stand out. You know? And it’s been a lot better standing out. I highly recommend it.