Zombie Elementary (12 page)

I just hoped no one would complain to my folks about Snuffy. Most people in our neighborhood know where we live. It’s a small town.

“Quit that!” I shouted. The dog kept barking. Then the people started moving, in a bunch. They were walking toward the swings, real slow.

“Honor!” I screamed.

She turned toward me and waved. Not waved like she was happy to see me. More like she was one of those drowning swimmers in the movies. You’ve seen them.

I ran forward. Jermaine did too. The group of zombies advanced. Mr. Snuffles was still barking at them. Dumb dog. But he’s our dog, and I had to make sure he was okay.

Plus, I didn’t want to own a zombie dog.

I couldn’t whistle ’cause I was running (you try it!), but as soon as I got to the playground, I stopped a moment and let out a real good whistle. Jermaine
shouted, “Here, boy!” although Mr. Snuffles never comes for Jermaine, ever. He always comes for me, though.

The dog picked up something and bounded toward the swings. The zombies picked up speed. They were staggering forward, arms flailing about. I could hear them. What I heard was: “
NGAAAAARRRRGGGHHH!!!! BRAINSSSSS!!!!
”

Honor was rooted to the spot, one hand tight around the, um, that bit that stands up to support the swing part. The upright, yeah.

Holding on like it would keep her safe.

“Honor!” I yelled out. “Run for it!”

It was like my shout broke a spell or something. My sister ran toward us. Her face was real pale. She was crying.

“Larry! Help!”

The zombies were still a ways off—like about as far as home plate to the outfield fence. I could run it in maybe ten seconds. Okay, twenty.

Mr. Snuffles waddled closer. He’s one of those short-legged dogs. A basset hound. Not real fast, even when he’s running. His tail was wagging.

What did he have in his mouth?

A bone? But it was green and had a black-and-white tennis shoe on one end. Converse, I think.

Zombies fall apart easily.

“Drop the bone, Snuffy!” I called out, real low. He usually listens when I use that voice. “Good dog. Drop it now.”

Mr. Snuffles dropped it.

“It’s a severed leg,” announced Jermaine. I could tell he was impressed. “It’s like the whole leg from the knee down.”

Well, sure. You don’t think a basset could carry a whole leg, do you? You’d need a German shepherd or a Great Dane for that.

The zombies were getting closer. Zombies don’t move real fast, either. It’s a good thing for us. One of them had only one leg. He fell down and sorta wriggled about on his butt trying to get up again. He was wearing a black-and-white tennis shoe.

One of the zeds was way ahead of the others, a tall guy in a basketball uniform. I guess even if you are a shambling creature, having long legs makes you go faster.

Jermaine pulled out his BB gun and fired. Missed, I guess. No reaction from Basketball Zombie.

He was, like, from home plate to the pitcher’s mound now. Fifty feet, tops. Real close.

“Jermaine! Take Honor and the dog and get out of here!” I yelled.

I was the big brother. I was the one with the bat. I had to do this.

But what was I supposed to do when my target was about two feet taller than me?

I ran toward the swings, waving the bat. The zombie changed direction. He was following me.
Good. Jermaine ushered Honor toward home. Mr. Snuffles picked up the severed leg and went with them. (I guess it was dinnertime in doggy world.) Maybe I should have just ran to stay ahead of the zombies and then made for home as soon as Jermaine could get Honor and the dog out of the park and away.

Basketball Zombie was pretty fast now he had the scent. He must have been twice as fast as the regular zombies. This wasn’t good.

He cornered me over by the swings. I didn’t have a lot of room. I jumped up onto a swing. It made me taller, sure, but have you ever tried to use a baseball bat from the seat of a swing? The hanging chains were in the way, and I couldn’t get my balance. Dang, this was a bad idea!

Basketball Zombie stretched out to grab me. He had real long arms as well as legs.

Oh boy. I was in all kinds of trouble now.

I sprinted away from the swings.
I knew I could zig left toward the slide or zag right toward the merry-go-round.

The slide wasn’t going to help. The merry-go-round was a big favorite of mine ever since I moved here. It’s a heavy, old-fashioned one that looks like a big wheel, the kind you have to really push to start it turning before you can jump on top. It’s not like those little ones with the seats. It goes real fast and you have to hold on in case you fly off onto the concrete. My mom says it’s too dangerous and kids could break their necks. Pretty cool, huh? I jumped for it and shoved real hard to get it started.

Basketball Zombie was right behind me as I worked to get the merry-go-round moving. I could feel him grabbing at my shirt. Also, yelling, “
NNNGAARRRGGH
!!”
in my ear. That got me pushing harder, I can tell you. Nothing like a zombie howling over your shoulder to get the legs pumping, right?

It was spinning pretty fast. I jumped on and tried to get my balance. Where was he? Where was BBZ? Had he jumped on? Was he—behind me?

Cold sweat dripped down my neck. I was scared. Heck, I was terrified.

Then I spotted him as the merry-go-round came around. He was crouched down, looking for me underneath the merry-go-round, like I’d crawled under it or something.

I got an idea. Hey, it’s allowed. I get ideas sometimes.

I took up a batter’s stance and called out. “Hey! Doo-doo head!”

Okay, I know that was kinda kindergarten as far as insults go. But it did the job. BBZ stood right up as the merry-go-round came all the way round again and I swiped at his head. I couldn’t explain all the scientific stuff, but swinging in the same direction as the merry-go-round turns gives more power to the bat. I mean a LOT more power to the bat.

I guess I expected to smash BBZ’s head like a melon. I know that’s what Mr. O’Hara said not to do, but I was having a real bad day. Instead, I sent it flying across the playground, over the tops of the swings. It bounced once and hit another zombie who was coming my way.

The rest of BBZ just sorta crumpled and twitched on the concrete.

I was stunned, and I guess it’s lucky I didn’t do what I’ve been trained to do, which is take off running for first base. There was no first base. I was riding on top of the merry-go-round (exactly like my mom told me never to do in case I broke my neck) and the rest of the brain-munchers were gathering around me.

Well, all except the one who had picked up BBZ’s head to examine it, like it was a suspicious object.

The zombies all came forward at once, surrounding the merry-go-round. I stepped down quickly to give an extra kick to keep it spinning fast. One of the zeds reached for me, but I twisted around with my right arm and swung at its arm. It wasn’t a real hard swing—one-handed, right?—but the bat caught the
zombie just at the wrist. There was a snap. The outstretched hand went up like a fly ball.

I jumped back onto the merry-go-round.

The zombie I had just hit looked up. I guess if I’d just had my hand swiped off with a bat, I might have looked to see where it went too. I hit him while his big, bloodshot eyes were off me. He went down in a heap.

Another zombie—some old guy in jogging pants—caught the hand and did this weird celebration dance, from one foot to the other and making a weird happy-ghoul noise. Then he started gnawing on the hand.

I gulped. The zombies were one step from the merry-go-round, trying to grab it. Grab
me
, really. I was glad it spun fast. I took my batter’s stance and struck as the merry-go-round turned. Wham. Another one down.

The follow through hit a second zombie and knocked it backward. I pulled back the bat, then balanced and struck a second time. I hit hard, and another zed head rolled across the playground. Another zombie turned into the strike and fell down. I guess that was almost a bunt. I spun around again
and got a clean strike on the old guy in the jogging pants. Home run!

I finished off with the zombie who caught Basketball Zombie’s head. I have to say it was getting easy by now. Coach Chicka would tell me it’s all about keeping a positive attitude.

I jumped down and made sure I was fresh outta zeds to take out.

The playground was kind of a mess, but what was I supposed to do about it? I don’t think I’m a litterer. My mom’s real down on littering. I figured Mr. O’Hara would be along in his van to handle it. Besides, the trash can by the swings was jam-packed. The parks department would have to tidy up.

I didn’t feel bad this time.
What Celeste said about zombies being monsters really made sense. They weren’t people anymore. I had to remember what Mr. O’Hara had told me, and try just to bonk them on the head, no bashing. Maybe they could be fixed up good and made human again. I dunno.

Still, I made sure I cleaned off my bat pretty darn good. My mom would see it and ask questions.

I ran home. Mom and Dad were waiting for me. They looked happy, but not “you just saved your little sis from zombies” happy. Jermaine was there as well, rubbing Mr. Snuffles behind the ears.

“Jermaine brought Honor home,” said Dad.

“Yeah,” said Jermaine. “I told your folks we split up to look for her, and you went around the long way by the railroad tracks in case she’d gone that direction.”

Jermaine’s smart. I could never think up a fib that good.

“Right!” I answered. “And, uh, she didn’t, I guess.”

My parents smiled at me. My dad patted me on the head. Then he went back to weeding the rosebushes, or whatever it was he was doing.

“Where’s Honor?” I asked Mom.

“She went to her room.”

I went and looked for her. She was on her bed, crying.

“Larry! I can’t believe there were so many zombies!”

“Um, yeah,” I answered. “Lots of zombies. All over town.”

“I thought there might be one or two, and I’d just run away from them. They walk really slow.”

They do. Mostly, if it’s just one zombie, you can get away by walking faster. Easy-peasy, right?