by Eric Johnson
Tom collapsed to the floor. Fear gripped him, and hopelessness washed over him like a bucket of ice water, but those emotions didn’t begin to cover what he felt. “That’s how we’re going to end up,” he said, burying his face in his hands.
The class was silent for a long moment until Emmett squeaked. “Those are not zombies!”
Tom pulled his legs in tighter as panic splattered across the class like burning hot sloppy joe sauce dropping on someone’s lap. Many huddled together in the corners, their faces mangled by the knowledge of what was going to happen to them.
“You can’t sit there.” Emmett kicked him. “What did the teacher mean by being better off in juvie? I don’t want to die, and you don’t want to die either? What do we now?”
Tom looked up. “It’s impossible. I can’t do it.”
“What makes you so special that Mr. Richards would lay it on you?”
“I’m not keeping you here.” Tom stood and pointed out the window. “Pick a direction, any direction. Go.”
“Bad kids know how to get out of trouble. That’s what Mr. Richards said.”
Tom turned. “I’m not bad.”
“I saw you talking to Anidea. They say she killed her parents, and lives in the woods. You must know something.”
Tom slapped his forehead. How little people found out for themselves. It was the curse of small-town life. “That’s crazy. She’s not a killer. When we were kids, she lived with her grandpa down the street from me. Then her Grandpa died and she moved across town. And my Dad put me here so I could learn to make better decisions.”
“Then you’re not learning. If it’s like this everywhere your dad is probably dead, and no one is coming.”
“Not my Dad. If it’s like this everywhere, where are we going to go? Even if we make it out, what then? We are safe here. The adults are coming back.”
“Is there anyone who knows we are still alive?” Emmett asked. “Is there anyone who is able to come get us? If the police aren’t able to save us, who can?”
Tom covered his eyes, plugging his ears with his thumbs shutting out Emmett. He needed to think. No one was coming. That was for sure. If he were outside, he’d get as far away from this as possible. It was life or death, and making the right decision really mattered. He dropped his arms and almost laughed. “This is perfect,” he said with a big smile.
“Perfect?” Emmett asked.
“It’s exactly what I wanted. Don’t you see?”
Critical Thinking
Emmett fidgeted stepping from side to side and looking from Tom to the class and out the window. He held his gut like he was going to puke. “S-sense,” he stuttered. “You’re not making sense.”
“No one.” Tom stood up straight, feeling triumphant. “No one is coming for us. Everyone! Everyone, listen! We’re going to get out of here.”
Winston paled. “What if those things are on the other side of the school?”
“Don’t be afraid,” Tom said. There was no time for fear. “It’s a risk we have to take. The sooner we go, the better our chances.”
The security wire on the glass cut Winston’s view of the hall into segments. “The creature is still out there. We can get past it if hit him with a chair.”
“We can’t take everyone if we leave the school,” Tom said. “It’ll be too hard to get everyone moving; not everyone will make it. The library is on the second floor and only has one door. If we can get there, we can use the shelves to block it, and wait this out.”
Emmett began to stack desks and chairs against the windows glaring at Tom out of the corner of his eye. “They’re coming this way. That’s your answer? That’s your plan?”
“You were right.” Tom didn’t have time for questions. “Are you on board with this? We have to take care of ourselves until someone can come and get us. We’re going down the hall and upstairs to the library. Get ready. When the door opens, I’ll pin the zombie against the door on the other side of the hall and you guys run for the library. Got it?”
Several kids pick up chairs to use as shields, ready to follow. Tom nodded to Winston and he opened the door. With the chair legs stuck out like horns, Tom charged out of the room headlong into the creature, smashing the chair into his back and pushing it up against the door opposite. Kids’ faces appeared in the window.
“Run. Get out here. Go to the library!”
Smoke rolled down the hall and creatures ambled toward him out of it. Instead of pushing out into the hall, the class retreated. The creature regained its footing and swiped at him, knocking the chair from his hands. Fear gnawed at the pit of Tom’s stomach as he ducked and ran back into the classroom, pulling the door shut.
“What happened?” he panted. “We could have made it there and now our chance is gone!”
Winston took hold of the door handle. “They freaked out. We’ll never get there.”
“We can’t go that way,” Tom said. “We’re trapped now. We could have made it.”
A fist smashed against the door, cracking the window. The creature was going to break in.
“I can’t hold this door for long,” Winston strained.
The door bent inward, and the hinges popped off the frame with a metallic crunch. Tom and Winston jumped back. “We have to fight!” Tom yelled.
Creatures charged in fast. Reflexively, Tom dodged to the side, pushing the first creature down as it passed. It crashed into a desk. A chair skidded across the floor to Tom’s side; he turned.
Another came for him, swinging its arms wildly. He ducked in time to avoid the first grasp but the second caught him by the shirt. The creature pulled him in. Its mouth opened wide, tentacles noodling out.
He froze. Its warped teeth pointed outward and its swollen tongue twisted, licking at his face. Above the creature’s head, the flash of a chair came down. The thing collapsed to its knees, pulling Tom down to the floor. Winston appeared above him, smiling as he swung the chair and smashed it head in. Tom kicked three times in rapid succession, knocking the creature back and breaking free from its grasp. He pushed himself away across the floor. Recovering, it lunged at him again.
Kicking out, Tom caught it in the throat with his heel. It squished in, sinking deep into the chest cavity. Its head collapsed down with the chin resting on his calf, but its jaw kept on snapping at his thigh. He pushed with his other leg, pulling his foot free.
Behind him, his hand came down on something soft. It’s was a kid from his class; his skin pasty green. The eyes peeled open, and it tore at him, wrapping the grisly tentacles around and pinning his arms. He tried to get away, but his feet were covered in ooze and he couldn’t get traction.
The other creature sprung at him with its jaw open inhumanly wide.
From one side Winston cried out and tackled it in midair. They tumbled across the floor into the desks and chairs by the window, the creature landing on top.
Straining to get to his feet, Tom grabbed a chair and smashed it down on the creature’s head, striking again and again. It collapsed in a heap, pinning Winston. Not stopping, Tom carried the momentum; gripping the legs of the chair, he hit the creature with a broad swing. Winston grinned as Tom jumped to his side, offering him a hand up.
On his feet again, Winston grabbed Tom’s shoulders and pulled him back as more of the creatures filed into the classroom. With their backs to the smart board, Winston glanced at Tom for a clue on what to do next; blood pouring from his smashed nose. Tom grabbed a dry eraser and threw it at the creatures.
“There isn't much to do about this now,” Tom said.
Winston looked desperately for his brother. “Everyone’s dead. Emmett!”
Around the room, their fallen classmates stood. morphing into pus oozing creatures, tooth and bone, tentacle and barb, undulating in a lunch line nightmare of mystery meat surprise.
Tom focused on the window. “That way?”
Winston kicked out the air vent at his feet. “Get in. I’ll hold them back.”
Emm
ett appeared from underneath the teacher’s desk, dodged the creatures, and dove into the air vent.
“These are definitely not zombies,” Tom said. “Go!”
*
Shrieks and howls echoed after them as they scrambled into the darkness. Terrified they were being followed Tom pushed at Winston’s feet, “Faster. We need to find the library.”
It’s not easy when you can’t see,” he replied.
After thirty feet and several turns, Tom stopped and listened. Cold air blew past. “We’re not being followed. Stop.”
“You’re crazy, we have to catch up to Emmett.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s my brother.”
The air vent was a thin metal cocoon, shielding them from the summer heat and nightmare creatures.
“Wait, listen for him. Then we go to the library.”
“Emmett,” Winston cried and kept going, “wait!”
Tom followed. “Dammit!”
At a split in the vent system something banged from down the shaft to the right; a tin-wrapped struggle echoed into in silence.
Tom went to the left. “This way!”
“That was my brother. Wait here.”
“You’ll die,” Tom said as Winston clambered down the air duct. More howls echoed, and Tom panicked, this wasn’t his plan. He couldn’t wait. He didn’t want to end up as a victim trying to rescue anybody. He pictured the ventilation system in his mind and tried to imagine where he was. The library was up. Knowing that was the easy part, but which way after? The library would be safe.
The smell of antiseptic pierced Tom’s nose. He approached a vent cover. Light shone through from the school nurse’s office, no other place in the school brought so many bad memories; the sting of a broken nose, the burn of sliding across a polished tile floor. Through the vent the nurse was holding down a figure on the bed. A blood-covered cloth slopped onto the floor.
The school nurse was yelling at the principal. “I don’t care, Jack. Give me your shirt, I need more bandages. We have to stop the bleeding.”
“But?” he replied his voice shaking.
“Damn it, Jack. Now!”
Tom punched the vent open and wiggled into the room. At the same moment he hit the floor, the nurse saw him and screamed. She picked up a crutch in her blood-soaked hands and charged. Thrusting it like a spear she knocked him back into the wall.
“Stop! Wait!” Tom held his arms up, blocking her thrusts.
Seeing that he wasn’t a creature, she dropped the crutch. She was clinical and cold. “What were you doing in there? How did you get here? What class did you come from? Go over there and sit down.”
A cough came from behind, Tom stiffened and turned. Principal Davies was standing in the corner of the room by the door, holding a clipboard over his head like he was ready to strike.
Even after their meeting earlier Tom was relieved to see the principal. He would help. Principals are trained for emergency situations, and this was definitely an emergency. He stepped forward and smiled weakly. “What have you seen, Stinson?” the principal demanded, grabbing his shoulders, and shaking him. “What’s going on out there? Tell me now.”
The nurse put a blanket over Tom. “Let him sit down, Jack. The boy is in shock.”
Tom was overcome with regret. “I failed. My class is dead.”
The principal thrust his finger at Tom like a knife. “Figures you’re the one who would run. Tell me what you saw!”
Tom retreated from the principal’s advance and crashed into the nurse’s tray, knocking a bottle of antiseptic on to the floor. It bounced on the floor, the top popping off and spilling the contents. “I thought…”
“You mess up everything you do. Don’t you take time to think?”
“The plane crashed. I tried to help.”
The principal’s eyes glazed over, he wasn’t listening. “It must be some sort of biological agent that makes people crazy. Right?”
The boy on the bed suddenly spewed bile, and his body flopped like a fish on a dock. “Help me, Jack. Hold him down,” the nurse ordered.
Tom backed away toward the door.
“You can’t leave,” the principal snapped. “It’s safe in here, and I called the police. Help is on the way.”
“Out there? Haven’t you seen what’s happening? The police are already here, but they can’t help us.”
The principal stared past him out the window.
“Not there,” Tom continued. “They are on the other side of the school where the plane crashed. Didn’t you hear the sirens?”
“Help me!” the nursed pleaded.
The principal’s eyes slide over to the nurse. Tom went for the door, but the principal grabbed him, snapping him around. “Don’t open that. Are you crazy?”
“We need to find some place to hide. The library is the safest place. We can’t stay in here with him here. You don’t know what happens.”
The boy on the bed began to wail.
“Look mister,” the principal said with real menace. “I’m the adult here and you’ll do what I say. It’s too dangerous out there. You can’t go.”
“Help me!” the nurse cried again.
Tom struggled to get free. “Let go. Don’t you see? She needs your help. Don’t you hear her? Help her.”
“She’s fine. Sit in the corner. Now’s not the time to cause trouble. We’re waiting for help.”
Tom stomped on the principal’s foot and kicked him in the nuts. Wind and spit flew from his mouth and he let go. Grabbing the crutch, Tom wound up like a batter. “Stop it. Stop it now. I’m not afraid to hit you. Don’t grab me again.”
Half hopping, the principal growled, “I knew you would be trouble. See it from my point of view. You are a disrespectful, rule-flouting know-it-all whose overconfidence will land him in jail one day.”
Tom bolted for the door again but the principal grabbed for the crutch, smacking him in the face. His cheek stung and he could smell blood in his nose.
Tom sidestepped and swung. A satisfying, whap sounded as the crutch bent across the back of the principal’s head. The principal sprawled across the floor, holding his hands up to protect himself; blood trickled down the back of his neck. “You can’t hit me. I’m the principal. Good kids don’t act like you!”
“Yeah? You’re not supposed to freak out. You’re supposed to help.”
The boy’s body became still. The nurse felt for a pulse. “He’s dead, Jack.”
The principal pondered his blood covered hand, shoulders slumped and arms hanging loosely at his sides. Forgetting Tom, he turned to the boy on the bed. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I tried, but I just don’t understand. None of this should be happening.”
Tremors rippled across the blood-soaked sheet covering the boy. Sounds that Tom had never heard before emanated from the body. He backed up into the window. How could there be any sound or movement if he wasn’t breathing?
The nurse gasped and ran to the door, tears streaking the makeup down her face and fear in her puffy eyes.
The principal thrust his arms out and charged the nurse, pushing her away from the door. “Don’t open that. They’ll get in here.”
Tom fumbled his hands across the window, feeling for the latch. “They are already in.”
On the bed, the boy’s arms rose up and flailed in the air; his eyes pushed right out of their sockets. Transformed. His face was like a pile of thrown up Chow Mein and grape juice with a toothy puss-filled hole for a mouth. Tom shook his head no, he almost didn’t make it the last time he was this close to a creature.
The principal blocked his way out. His arms barring the door. The boy on the bed stood sopping blood stuck his shirt to his heaving chest. His body reeking of school lunch bile. Tom didn’t have to choose. This was worse than his classroom, but that didn’t matter now. He went for the window. This was why people jumped from burning buildings. The window’s wood frame was warped from the humidity of summer. He hacked out the glass w
ith the crutch with single minded pleasure at the shattering of the glass. “I’m never going to be like you.”
The principal let go of the nurse and moved toward him. “Oh no you’re not. It’s safer in here. I can’t let you jump out of a window.”
The nurse kicked the principal in the rear and went for the door again. He yelped, and turned, grabbing her by the hair. “Don’t open that. Do you want to die?” then to Tom. “Go ahead, you’re making a bad decision, kid.”
“Don’t you see what’s happened to him?” Baring her teeth, the nurse twisted around and bit the principal’s hand. He yelped in pain, letting her go.
The boy moved toward Tom. His mouth opened wider than humanly possible, his head transformed into a giant Venus fly trap with teeth, pointing inwards like barbs on a fishing hook.
“Stop fighting. Don’t you see?”
The principal was still struggling with the nurse and didn’t notice.
Tom turned back to the window. A garbage dumpster sat below; only a six-foot drop onto the lid if he hung from the sill. Too late for choices. Tom hung over the edge, glass from the frame cutting into his hands. The boy grabbed his wrist and a single tentacle lashed at Tom’s face.
“See, that boy’s not dead,” the principal said. “We can stay here.”
Tom let go. For an eternal second, his pulse pounded in his throat. He hit the ground hard, missing the dumpster. Clenching his teeth, he forced himself to stand. Then five, ten, too many, came around the corner. He wasn’t ready, but moved anyway. Voices from the dumpster pleaded with him as he stood to run. The lid rose up a few inches and two faces appear.
“Take us with you,” Emmett said.
Winston pleaded. “We can’t hide here.”
“You don’t want to come with me. I killed our class,” he said, not realizing who it was. Everything was a blur of action.
“I don’t believe what the teacher said,” Emmett croaked. “You saved us.”
Winston opened the lid all the way. “You hang out with Anidea, right? We know her too.”
