Zombie High (18 page)

After the fight, Matt asks, “Is there any chance I
might not…” trailing off before putting into words the rest
of his impossible question.

Looking to each of the others, you find the eyes of
each of them just before they give you a small shake of
the head confirming what you already know. Answering,
you say, “We can try to make you comfortable, but we
can’t stay.”

Shaking his head, even while blood pools up
around his body from the multiple bite wounds, Matt
says, “No,” and swallows hard. “Just go before I…”

Nodding, you say, “All right,” and thank him for
helping to save your life. Standing up, you look to the rest
of them and say, “I know of a place we can go, but the
people inside won’t let us in unless we bring supplies. It’s
up to you, but I need to get a first aid kit and some food.
Do you want to come?”

The three students look at each other for a second
and then, with a shrug, agree that it’ll be better to stick
with you than go out alone. Whether it’s because you
seem to at least have a plan and they don’t, or because
you’re the only one left with any decent weapons which
include the two remaining two-by-fours on your back and
the tools in your pockets, they leave it to you to decide
where to go.

The Bagdonas girl asks, “Do you think if we get the
first aid kit, then there might be something we can do for
Matt?”

Shrugging your shoulders you say, “I don’t know. I
hope so. The others in the teachers’ lounge upstairs said I
needed to bring them one if I wanted in, so I can only
assume that they thought there was something in there
that might help.”

“Well, then, I agree,” says Bagdonas. “Let’s go get
one.”
Pointing back the way she came, you say, “The
closest one I know of is back that way in the science lab.
Did you happen to see anything down there that we’ll
need to avoid?”
“The science lab doors were closed, but both the
science classrooms were open. That’s where I found most
of these guys,” says Bagdonas gesturing to the twice dead
individuals at your feet.
Thinking about it for a second, you figure that since
the first aid kit is located in the lab and not in the
classroom, then the odds are pretty good that it hasn’t
been used, and if, as she said, all of the zombies from
there chased her to this point, then the coast should be
clear for them to go in to grab it. With that reasoning, you
say, “All right, then let’s get in there, grab it, and get out.
If you see any more of them, however, you better have
one of these to defend yourself with,” and with that you
pass out the extra two-by-fours you’ve been carrying on
your back and a pair of screwdrivers to Ryan.
With everyone tooled up, you head back towards
the science lab quickly and carefully, trying to use hand
signals you’ve seen in movies and video games every time
you approach an open doorway or intersection. When
you get to the science wing, you personally check out the
two rooms, Mr. Tibbs’ on one end and Mr. Ray’s on the
other, only to find them deserted and a mess of broken
equipment and signs of a fire left behind. Returning to
the hall, you tell the others what you saw in a low whisper
and then suggest that you knock on the door to the lab
which sits between the two rooms, before simply
attempting to open it and walk in. Your reasoning that if
anyone did survive that they would most likely be held up
in there and be a little jumpy after such events is more
than enough to convince the others of your plan.
Leaving the others as lookouts, you step up to the
door and knock softly on the wood. From inside, you hear
several sounds, but it’s not until you knock again that you
hear someone answer, “Who’s there?”
Keeping your voice low, you tell them who you are
as well as the fact that you have three other students with
you, and that you would like to come in. After a moment,
you hear the sound of something scraping across the
floor, and then the door opens to reveal Mr. Ray along
with a few other students. Looking you up and down, and
then turning his eyes to the rest of your party, he asks,
“Have any of you been bitten?”
You assure him them each of you is unharmed, but
add that one of your party was taken down up the hall
and bitten. Upon hearing this, he quickly ushers you all in
and closes the door behind you. Looking around, you
notice that he has several workstations set up around the
room, and each one of them seems to have a different
focus as they each have different equipment laid out on
the tables. Unsure of what he’s doing in here, you turn to
ask him but stop when you see him set down what looks
like a gun of some sort and push a heavy cabinet into
place blocking the door.
Tempted to tell him you weren’t planning on
staying, and you only came for the first aid kit which is
clearly hanging on the wall next to the emergency
showers, you also consider talking to him about all of this
stuff he has and whether or not he has an extra one of
those gun type things which you can use when you go
back out there. Looks like you have some choices to
make.

With your leg hurting the way it is, you don’t want
to risk hopping around on one foot and wind up falling on
your face. Reluctantly, you decide that crawling over to
the house will be a better decision if only because it’s
safer. As you position yourself to be on your hands and
knees and begin crawling you find that you are still putting
too much pressure on your knee which somehow got
twisted in the fall. Your best bet, you realize, is going to
be doing some sort of low crawl, army style thing, and
drag your legs behind you. The whole thing seems utterly
ridiculous, and at some point you hope that you’ll be able
to look back at all of this and laugh, but right now
between the pain and the very real threat of zombies,
you’re willing to do just about anything to get somewhere
safe and call for help.

Coming up along the side of the house, you finally
reach the corner and spot what you’ve been looking for,
the back door. You know your uniform is full of grass
stains from your efforts, but at this point having your
mom yell at you would almost be a welcome change
considering how the rest of the day has gone. Reaching
forward, you continue to crawl your way around to the
back door, pulling your lower body forward inch by inch.

When you’re just a few feet away from the back
door, your bad leg hits a rock, and you cry out from the
pain. Your whole leg feels like it’s on fire, and the
throbbing is almost unbearable. That’s when someone
steps out from the house. With your eyes watering and
full of tears from the latest injury and your clothes and
hands a mess the way they are, it’s almost understandable
how the old man without his glasses on could mistake you
for a zombie. It’s too bad about his hearing aid, though. If
he hadn’t lost it last week, he might have heard you ask to
use the phone right before he fired his shotgun at you.

Setting aside your concerns about the various items
at the different workstations around the room and the
first aid kit for just a moment, you ask, “Mr. Ray, do you
know what’s going on?”

“Well, when the infected people began to attack
and the school went into lockdown, I started trying to
figure out what was going on and had some students in
my second hour honors class helping out.”

When Mr. Ray pauses, his brain clearly riding out
multiple lines of thought at the same time, you prompt
him, asking, “And?”

Answering you, he says, “Oh, sorry, I just thought
of another thing we could try, but I don’t have all the
supplies here. Anyway, I was saying that Mackie from my
second hour was the first to spot the parasite that’s
causing the people out there to act like zombies.”

Curious, you ask, “Really? Where did you guys get
it? Did you capture one of the zombies or something?”
“No. Nothing quite so complicated like that. The
parasites are actually in the water.”
“What?” you ask, not understanding his statement.
“The parasites, they’re in the water.”
“Like the drinking water?” you ask in disbelief.
“Yes, and the toilet water, the faucets, all of it.”
“How can that be? I mean, if it’s in the water then
wouldn’t we all be infected?” you ask.
Nodding sadly, Mr. Ray says, “Yes, we are. My best
guess is that people started getting infected roughly two
days ago, and by now it’s probably in over ninety-nine
percent of the population.”
“No way. That can’t be. I mean, I’m not a zombie,
and none of you look like one either.”
“The parasite can’t really begin to do its work as
long as the body’s normal immune system is working. It
looks like it is just in our bloodstream in stasis, like it’s
asleep. It’s kind of hanging out and waiting for its
opportunity.”
“You mean waiting for us to die,” you say, clarifying
his statement.
Shrugging, he says, “Yes, or something else to
cause the body’s immune system to either stop
functioning or at least get so weak that it can take control
of certain brain functions so that it can direct the person
towards its goal of spreading the contagions.”
Noticing how he pluralized the last word, you ask,
“What do you mean, ‘
contagions
’? It’s the parasite that
we have to worry about, right?”
Shaking his head, Mr. Ray says, “No. Actually, since
we are all already infected with the parasite as far as I can
tell, it’s not the parasite that’s the biggest problem
anymore. When the zombies attack, they are doing two
things. First, it would seem that they try to bite for the
neck, the inner arm, or the inner thigh where the arteries
are close to the skin and the person’s death will be the
most likely so the parasite can gain control over the
victim, or in this case ‘host’ is probably more accurate a
term, quickly. The other issue is the bites themselves.
People have a ton of bacteria and viruses in their mouths,
and when they bite people, they are essentially spreading
those things around. Added to that, as they bite, they
ingest the blood and flesh of their victims and become
carriers for any additional contagious things that person
was carrying. By this point, considering the statistics, the
average zombie out there is carrying everything from AIDS
and hepatitis to E. coli and staphylococcus in their mouth,
in addition to the common cold and gingivitis.”
Understanding where his train of thought is going,
you say, “So these things are really just vectors for all of
the bad stuff out there, and if they don’t kill you outright,
their bites will by infecting you with a bunch of nasty
stuff.”
“Exactly,” says Mr. Ray, a little too excited about
the fact that you showed that you knew the material,
almost forgetting the implications of the statements
themselves.
“Do you know where it came from?” you ask.
“That one is a little harder, but I think that when
the economy bottomed out and the pharmaceutical plant
closed up, they dumped a lot of their stuff into the water.
When that happened, it all mixed together, and the
bacteria and plants in the water consumed it. Honestly,
there’s no telling what that could have done and how it
would have affected future generations of the stuff, but
it’s the most likely scenario. I mean to look at this thing
under a microscope, it appears to have quite a few
characteristics in common with the Ophiocordyceps
fungi.”
“Fungi, you mean like mushrooms?” asks Ryan.
“Kind of, but this is a parasitic fungi. Anyway, the
Ophiocordyceps takes control of the minds of ants and
turns them zombie-like. That’s something that’s been
around for a while. Now the way I see it, if the
pharmaceutical company dumped enough of the right
stuff in the water, it could have forced the parasites to
adapt or evolve. Either way, they’re here now.”
Asking the obvious question, you say, “So, what are
we going to do?”
Thinking about it for second, Mr. Ray says, “Well,
the good news is that the parasite will not be able to
maintain the human body for too long. It’s like they are
the captain of the Titanic after the ship hit the iceberg.
The people they are controlling are either already dead, or
so far gone that medical science could never bring them
back. The only difference is that now instead of them just
lying on the ground, or as in my original analogy the
captain going down with his ship, it’s trying to hit as many
other ships, in this case people, as it can to bring them
down with it.”
Taking a minute to process all of this, you look
around the lab and notice that there only seems to be half
a class worth of students in here, and they’re all busy
tinkering with stuff at the various workstations. Realizing
that some of them must have perished, you ask, “So is
that what happened to the rest of your class? Did one of
them get in here and get some of your students?”
“Yes, unfortunately. We have been using the stuff
you see around here in the lab to create some defensive
weapons, but we didn’t know exactly how suitable they
would be in a real encounter without trying them. A
couple of the students decided to take it upon themselves
to try some out on the reanimated corpses in the hall, and
they ended up getting bit. We got them back in the
classroom as quick as we could, but the infections already
started to do their work, and they managed to hurt
several others before we quarantined ourselves off in
here.”
Realizing that these students he speaks of must
have been some of the creatures you and the others just
put down in the hall, you skip your next question about
them and move on to the more practical inquiries. “We
already know that hitting them in the head enough times
works, but what else have you found?”
“Acid takes too long to put them down and is
better off as a means of disposal when it gets to be time
to clean them up. Fire is a bad idea because they just
keep coming. It’s like the nerves have been disconnected
from their brain, and they don’t feel it. Electricity works,
but it’s dangerous to both them and the user because it
takes at least twice as much current to put them down.
You have to almost cook the brain.” Looking down to the
gun in his hand, Mr. Ray says, “This here is about the only
thing I’ve been able to make which does the trick, but it
requires some skill to use.”
“It looks like a gun,” exclaims Chris.
“It’s a rail gun, actually,” says Mr. Ray. “It uses
magnets to accelerate a pellet instead of gunpowder and
bullets. The pellets I’m using are sodium pellets coated in
glycerol. When they come in contact with water, or in this
case the sweat, saliva, or blood and tissues of the undead,
they react violently, destroying the area. The key is that it
has to go in the mouth, eyes, or head far enough that the
reaction destroys the brain.”
“I don’t suppose you have a few extra ones laying
around?” asks Chris.
“No, I only had he supplies to make one. Besides,
there aren’t a lot of sodium pellets and those things are
just as bad if you touch them as the creatures. They’ll
react with the oil on your fingers.”
“What about the rest of this stuff, then?” asks
Bagdonas. “Is there anything here we could use?”
“Maybe, but we’ve been working to build up our
supplies for Mr. Castle and his students first.”
Knowing that Mr. Castle is an ex-military guy, you
mentally kick yourself for not seeking him out first. If
there was anyone who was going to survive a zombie
apocalypse, he would be the guy. Looking to Mr. Ray, you
ask, “Where is he?”
“Last time I checked, he was in his classroom,”
answers Mr. Ray. “When we got stuck in here, I took
apart the PA system wiring over here,” pointing to the
cords hanging out of the wall, “and started trying to
contact the office and then other rooms for help. Mr.
Castle was the only one who picked up.”
“Can we speak to him?” asks Bagdonas. “I have
him for a teacher fifth hour.”
“Maybe in a little bit. He’s supposed to be coming
down here to pick up supplies, and then he said he would
take the rest of us upstairs to safety.”
Unsure if he meant the teachers’ lounge or not, it
still brings your thoughts back to your mission, so you say,
“I met some people upstairs. They said they were safe
where they were, but wouldn’t let me in unless I brought
them some stuff.” Looking over to the wall next to the
shower, you ask, “Can we take your first aid kit?”
Shrugging his shoulders, Mr. Ray says, “I guess, but
it won’t do you much good if someone gets infected.”
Then realizing your intention, he says, “You’re not
planning to go out there on your own are you? Just wait
here and someone will come. If not Mr. Castle,
someone.”
Considering his words, you have a choice to make.