Zombie Elementary (16 page)

She looked around. “Huh,” said Granny. “Ah coulda sworn there was a hundred zombies out here.”

We all looked around. There was no sign of any zombies at all.

“Sorry ah was so long,” said Chucky. “Mall was packed.”

“’Bout danged time,” she said. “Ah got four shells left and ah’m all out of Marlboros.” She grinned at us. “House is kinda untidy right now, but if yew want lemonade, ah could rustle some up.”

So we drank lemonade, and Granny griped about the house being attacked by zombies. I noticed her arm was wrapped in a dish towel, and there was dried blood on it. Jermaine did too.

“Uh, did you hurt yourself?”

Chucky’s grandmother grinned again. Four teeth on top, five on the bottom. “Oh, it was jest a scratch.”

“The zombies?” asked Francine.

“Oh, no,” answered Granny. “Ah was peelin’ the taters fer supper tonight.”

All the same, I noticed she cut her eyes toward Chucky when she said that.

We finished our lemonade and headed home. Francine rode on the frame of my bike. (She could do that ’cause she’s all gymnastic.)

“I think Granny just imagined there were zombies in the house,” said Francine. “And started shooting and holed up in the outhouse blasting away at nothing.”

“Maybe,” said Jermaine.

“There was no blood or bodies or anything,” Francine went on.

Jermaine didn’t say anything else. I thought about it for a while.

So, we rode home on our bikes.
Didn’t see any more zombies. I gotta say, we didn’t look for any more zombies. I’d had enough for one day, and only Francine had anything to fight with. A weapon, I mean.

When we reached the corner of Cedar Street and
4
^th
street, Jermaine said we should have what he called a “conference.” I guess he meant we should talk about what to do next. We just sat on a wall and “conferenced” about school tomorrow.

“Listen,” said Jermaine. “The good news is we don’t have thousands of zombies milling about, like all the movies do. Bad news is there are more zeds every day. Chances are, school’s gonna be full of ’em.”

“We could all fake sick,” I said.

Francine didn’t like that idea. “What, just hide from the zombies?” Sarcastic tone. She was right. We had to fight them.

Jermaine went on. “You know what Chainsaw Chucky was saying? About finding the source of the outbreak, yeah? We need to do that. If we could destroy the cause of the infestation, all we have to do after that—”

“—is bop about four hundred zombies on the head,” said Francine. “Easy-peasy.”

We didn’t say anything for a while.

“You’re right,” said Jermaine after a few moments. “But it’s the logical place to start.”

So we all went home.

I was still thinking about my bat. I mean, thinking about my dad’s Louisville Slugger, and whether I should ask if I could use it. I wasn’t batting 300, but pretty much nobody bats 300. I didn’t think my dad had said that just to, you know, tease me. He’s not like that. One day he’d let me use it, probably when I got a bit taller and showed that I’m serious about baseball. Which I am, and he already knew that. Plus, I’d had a growth spurt. I was, like, five-one. So, it would have been a pretty good time to ask to use it. I needed the bat, ’cause I didn’t have a bat.

But that was the problem. If Dad knew I’d lost my old bat, he’d never let me use the Slugger. I couldn’t tell him what happened. He wasn’t gonna accept “a zombie grabbed it at the mall” as an excuse. He was gonna call me irresponsible. And I was not going to get the Louisville Slugger at all, ever.

Next morning I did something very bad.
Dad had to leave early for work, so while Mom was making breakfast, I snuck into my parents’ room. I rooted around in Dad’s closet, crawling over his shoes. He leaves ’em on the floor, like I do. The bat was behind a pair of cowboy boots he bought on our vacation in New Mexico last year. He hasn’t worn them since.

I carried the Slugger downstairs, where Mom was making oatmeal for Honor and me, and put it in my sports bag. Mom didn’t check if it was my normal bat
inside my bag. I mean, why would she? Plus, it was raining and she had to help Honor look for her coat.

Jermaine was already on the bus when I got on. “You got the Louisville Slugger, then?” he said.

“Sure,” I replied. I guess he knew I’d do it. “Do you have your BB gun?”

Jermaine’s eyes went all big. “Nuh-uh! I’d get suspended until twelfth grade. Except I’d never get to twelfth grade!”

The bus ride was about normal. Nothing happened. Not a zombie anywhere. Maybe they didn’t like rain, either.

I was ready for trouble when we pulled up in front of Brooks Elementary, but everything seemed fine. No, that wasn’t true. Everything was silent, pretty much. The kids weren’t chattering or pushing in the hallways. The only noise was made by teachers, yelling and ordering us around, like always.