CHAPTER SEVEN
The zombie began pushing at the door, having broken through the plywood. The door started giving way.
But I decided, hey, why wait.
I stomped toward the door, and let loose a mule kick on it with one leg, as I taught myself and my zombieness earlier. I slammed the tattered door outward, smashing it into the zombie enemy.
The zombie let out a grunt as he tumbled backward.
I shoved the door with my shoulder and knocked it wide-open, making way toward my zombie foe.
The zombie began crawling to his feet, confused at the door slamming into him, and he grunted and growled in animalistic distress. He arose, facing me, and snarled.
Now, I didn’t have much practice with the baseball bat in my new form. In fact, no practice at all. Realizing this, I lost confidence in it, and threw it at the zombie. It struck his thigh, and not with a very solid hit. But it distracted him for a moment.
I dashed toward him, and punched him in the face, hard. I hit him square in the eye.
He tottered backward, but didn’t fall. He roared and charged at me, tackling me.
We tumbled, and rolled, and I ended up on top. I braced him down by sitting on his chest, and pummeled his head with my fists. After a few blows, I cracked his skull. He was dead.
“Wow,” Eric exclaimed breathlessly. I looked up at him and dad. They were both standing in view through the doorway, wide eyed, watching their zombie boy taking a zombie down.
I must have looked awesome!
I definitely felt kind of awesome.
I went and picked up my bat from the ground. I reached for my throat, to feel for my sign’s rope around it. It was there, it hadn’t fell off. My helmet fell off from the tumble, though.
“Eric!” my dad shouted, as Eric ran outside to me.
“It’s okay, dad!” Eric said, as he grabbed my helmet from the ground. “You have to strap the helmet on so it doesn’t fall off,” he told me. He put it back on my head and buckled its strap under my chin. “There.”
Thanks [GLRLRLAAOORRLRLRLDLDL], I said.
Okay…need my keyboard.
We both headed back into the house. Just outside the front door, I stopped, as Eric stepped inside.
“What’s up?” Eric asked of me.
Uhhh…
“Oh,” Eric uttered, and snatched up my toy keyboard. He handed it to me. I typed.
I’M GOING TO WAIT OUTSIDE, WHILE YOU AND DAD PATCH UP THE DOORWAY. I’LL PROTECT YOU FROM ZOMBIES.
“What the hell is going on!?” I heard a drunken yell.
Red the redneck was back.
He staggered down the dark road toward us with a flashlight in one hand, and his shotgun in the other. He was in hunting cameos. If I didn’t know from earlier that he was drunk, I would have said his stagger was very zombie-like. Well, he’s just as dumb to be wandering around at night during a lockdown.
“Woooo!” he exclaimed. “You got yerself a zombie!”
I hesitated for a moment but then I realized he was indicating the other zombie, not me – the zombie I just took out.
“Thanks,” my dad half-smiled and waved a hand in the air. “Thanks a bunch, Red.”
“No, thank YOU,” Red slurred, with a deep look in his face, “thanks for what you done for this town, sirs!”
What’s worse than a redneck? As seen earlier: A drunk redneck. With a shotgun.
“Happy hunting, Red,” Eric chimed in, caution in his tone. I’m sure he was concerned all the shouting would attract more zombies.
“Yeah, same to all of yous!” Red shouted out loud, not having any sense of personal volume.
He looked at me, and then peered at me from under a drawn, sweaty brow. “You don’t look so good, son.”
No shit.
“He’s sick, and this zombie business is messing with his head,” my dad said. And with total but ambiguous truth.
Red guffawed, “Tell me about it - yeah, look like yous either is gay or colorblind!”
I kind of shifted uncomfortably in my army helmet, hot pink hoody and purple cargos. And nice shoes.
“Well, best of luck, and happy huntn to yous too!” Red yelled. And, at last, he made his way down the street, humming an out-of-tune tune to himself.
Well, after a couple of hours, one more zombie did come (on which I executed a wrestling “clothesline” move, and then finished him off), from all the noise dad and Eric made while barricading the door. This time they did it with a solid build of two-by-fours rather than just plywood. They made a way of opening it and closing it easily, with two two-by-eight boards from the inside.
When they finished, it was something like 4AM. Eric wiped his sweat from his brow. “You coming in?” he asked. He looked really tired. Which reminded me how I was not tired – and never seemed to get tired. I shook my head.
I’M FINE OUT HERE. AND BESIDES. I’M KIND OF HUNGRY AGAIN.
“Couldn’t we get you something from the fridge?” my dad asked, helpfully. And innocently.
“Dad,” Eric said, shaking his head, “zombies can only feast on humans. Their bodies don’t have a functional digestive tract or any metabolic activity. Human meat assimilates into their body on ingestion, and maintains all it’s active cells.”
I zombie-smiled again.
CHECK OUT MR. SCIENTIST.
Eric kind of shrugged. “Well…what can I say? Internet.”
Oh, and, Mr. Fashion statement?” Eric began, raising an eyebrow at me, “let’s get you some real clothes. Come inside first.”
I didn’t feel like arguing. In fact, I agreed. I followed him in.
He got me black boots, blue jeans and an olive drab army jacket, and a White Zombie T-shirt. I tried to glare at him as I waved the shirt in his face. He laughed.
I excused him from the room while I did zombie-dressing yoga.
I got the heavy metal World War II vintage army helmet back on my head. I managed to do the chinstrap myself.
I did need his help doing the bootlaces. I wasn’t dexterous enough and was in a hurry – I was too anxious to leave the house. My hunger was coming on strong.
“There’s a sledge hammer in dad’s tool closet,” Eric said. “I think you are too strong for just a bat.” He ran and got it for me. It felt pretty light in my zombie grip.
Eric watched me easily deal with the weight of this hammer, and nodded in content. “The zombie body apparently adjusts rapidly to stress. As awkward and movement-limited as a zombie may seem, they develop dexterity and strength quite quickly. The only problem is, is that a zombie is so animal in nature, they don’t think; they don’t try to utilize this ability of capabilities.” Amen, Mr. IQ. Well, at least he enthused in to one study topic, though I doubt it was a topic in school, of which he otherwise was more bored of or mediocre in. Well, besides math.
But regarding his comment on zombies: I’m different. That’s what he means. I’m me. And I can think and do and be human about things. I can use this zombieness and develop myself. I can be my own experiment. The question is, as a zombie/human confusion, in the cliché of a mad scientist, patient, or hideous henchman-assistant, which of the three am I? Hmm. Not a very important thought.
My hunger was roaring from within. It literally felt like it was taking over.
I poked out a warning message from my keyboard toy.
I HAVE TO GET OUTSIDE NOW.
I turned and left Eric. I’d just assume that the hunger could take over me and make me hurt someone. At least, that’s how it goes in any sort of movie/novel I’ve seen/read with a similar scenario as mine.
I stepped out of the house, and turned around to close the heavy wooden block of a door behind me. My dad was there at the inside of the door. “Well, see you soon, I guess,” he said, trying to be cheerful. He looked quite tired, too. And a bit worried.
I’LL BE FINE DAD. I’LL SEE YOU SOON.
I waved (sort of), slung my
keyboard toy over my back by the strap Eric had attached to it, and left into the dark hurriedly, dumb cardboard sign and all.
My zombie vision took in my dark environment with clarity. It was actually pretty cool.
Hunger!
The sensation of hunger almost screamed in my head. My vision faded for a second.
Was it taking over? I was scared. I didn’t want to not be me. I didn’t want to be just a zombie.
I had to eat something to turn the feeling off, I decided.
Wrestling against the overpowering zombie urges within, I peered deep into the distance around me. It was blurry to see far away, at first, but my zombie vision strengthened at my effort. Far off, I saw lurking figure of a zombie. I headed toward it.
My vision was going on and off – I seemed to be blacking out, was the feeling. Every time my vision and mind would ebb, and turn back on again, I was closer and closer to the zombie target.
My vision turned on as I was face to face with the zombie and his dank features. I swung and struck him in the skull with a dull thud, and he crumpled to the ground dead. Its skull was cracked wide open, revealing a yummy edible treat within.
Then my vision blacked out, my mind shut down.
I'm Kind of A Zombie Page 7
