Zombie High (27 page)

Looking back down to the coins in your hand, you
know there is no way you can afford more than one thing,
and yet, choosing one seems impossible. That’s when you
hear the voice from the machine say, “You know with
zombies out there ready to eat your flesh, I don’t think
now is really the time for you to be all that choosy.”

Startled, you look around and finding no one ask,
“Who’s there?”
From behind the machine, you see Jake poke his
head out, and say, “Relax, man, it’s just me.”
Stepping around, you see that he has set himself up
with a little hideaway spot behind the machines by
pushing them away from the wall just enough that his thin
frame can fit back there. At the bottom of the drink
machine, you see that he has somehow removed the
metal backing, and that there is just enough room for him
to curl up into a tight ball, if he needs to. Right now,
however, the space is lit up by the machine’s internal
lights which illuminate the logo on the front. On the
ground near the opening, he has a notebook and several
pencils laid out, and it looks like he’s been sketching some
of the things he’s seen today.
Nodding your chin towards the spot, you ask, “You
making camp down there?”
Shrugging his shoulders, he says, “Seemed like as
safe a place as any. A couple of those things came by and
for whatever reason they didn’t find me, so I figured I
might as well stay.”
“How long have you been back there?” you ask.
“About an hour, I guess. I ducked in here as soon
as I saw that thing attack Mr. Tibbs. No one wanted to
believe me when I said it was a zombie, but trust me, that
thing was one.”
Thinking back to Miss Millstone’s class, you say,
“Yeah, I had a similar problem.”
“So, what are you doing down here?” asks Jake.
Answering him honestly, you say, “I found some
people upstairs in the teachers’ lounge. It looks like they
got the place pretty secure, and I think there’s a phone in
there. They said I can get in if I bring them some
supplies.”
“Think they’ll have room for one more?”
“Don’t know, probably. They just said to bring
them stuff, and they’d let me in.”
Looking down to your hand, Jake says, “Well, I
don’t think that’s going to be enough money to buy
enough stuff for too many people.”
Snorting, you say, “Yeah, I was just coming to the
same conclusion.”
“If I help you, you think you can talk them into
letting me in?”
“Sure,” you agree. At this point, any help would be
better than running around the school alone.
“Cool, give me a second, and I’ll get you all the stuff
you want from the machine.”
Figuring that Jake was going to do something in the
back to trick the machine into giving you free food, you
decide to run down to one of the open lockers and grab a
book bag to carry it all in. The trip down to the closest
locker and back only takes a few seconds, and although
the backpack you find turns out to be an ugly lime green
color, you figure who cares, as long as it carries the food.
When you return, you kneel down in front of the machine
and prepare to reach in and start grabbing up all of the
goodies.
From behind the machine, Jake asks, “You ready?”
“Yup, bring on the snacks,” you answer.
It’s about five seconds later that you realize that
you should have asked for a bit more details about what
Jake was planning. Somehow, Jake managed to climb his
way up to the top portion of the machine, and was at this
moment pushing with his legs against the wall, while you,
having no idea of what was about to happen, continue to
kneel there waiting for the sweet and salty rain of
heavenly junk food. It’s at the six second mark that you
recognize your error. Unfortunately, it’s about two
seconds too late, because as the seventh second passes,
you find yourself being crushed beneath the weight of the
machine Jake just managed to tip over.
To be fair, the machine’s weight was heavy, and
while alone it would most certainly have pinned you in
place, with Jake there, the two of you do have the
combined strength to lift it high enough that you can slide
out. Guess that means you have another choice to make.

“Holy…I didn’t know you were there. I’m so sorry,”
says Jake. “Ah, crap. I thought you were standing back,
and we would just raid the machine once it was down.
Tell me what I can do to help.”

You never were one for the heavy grunting and
sweating associated with weight lifting class. Something
about that ringworm picture in your biology book just
burned its way into your brain, and you frankly didn’t
want to risk it knowing how often some of these guys
around here shower. Knowing that, however, you figure if
Jake helps you, you should be able to lift the snack
machine off your chest enough that you can slide your
way out.

Looking up to him, you try to pull in some air
despite the weight on your chest and ask, “How much do
you think you can lift?”

“I….I don’t know,” answers Jake, having been put
on the spot. “I mean, I know I can’t lift this whole thing if
that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Well, kind of. I was thinking…if I push up while
you lift, I might be able to slide out.”
Tilting his head, Jake finally shrugs and says, “It’s
worth a try, at least.”
Getting on one side, Jake bends over at the hips
and asks, “Ready?”
Catching his mistake, you say, “You’re going to kill
your back like that. You need to bend at the knees and
keep your spine neutral.”
Looking down at his straight legs and then at the
machine, Jake says, “I don’t think it’s going to matter
where I bend, this thing is going to be heavy,” before
changing his stance and bending like he should.
Counting down, you say, “Three…two…one…lift,”
letting the last word come out with a grunt.
You feel the machine roll across your chest, and it
feels like it’s broken your sternum the way the pain in
your chest flares up. Together, however, the two of you
are able to lift it just enough, and you begin to slide out
while Jake holds it in place.
By the time you’re halfway out, Jake’s arms and
legs are shaking, and you know something else is wrong.
For some reason, you can’t feel your right leg as you try to
crawl out from beneath the machine. That’s when you
notice the blood.
Apparently, when the machine fell, the glass from
the display window broke, and a piece went into your leg,
severing both your femorial artery and the nerves around
the area. You try to reach out, not sure if you should pull
it out or not, when Jake says, “I can’t hold it much longer.”
Forgetting the glass for a second, you squirm out
just in time before Jake’s fingers give out, and the
machine falls heavily to the floor, leaving a thick trail of
blood as you go. While you would like to blame it on the
adrenaline, you know that despite the fact that it’s only
been a little while you’re already feeling the effects of the
blood loss. That’s how you know it’s more than serious.
Looking to Jake, you say, “I don’t think I’m going to make
it, man.”
Panting from his exertions, he starts saying, “Don’t
be dramatic. I’m sure you’re…,” before he really looks at
you and stops mid-sentence and says, “Oh crap! What
happened?”
“Piece of glass, go get help.”
“Okay, I’ll get the nurse,” says Jake just before he
goes running off.
You have no idea if Jake ever found the nurse. You
hope that he did, and you also hope he made his way up
to the teachers’ lounge, and everyone got rescued.
Unfortunately, you’ll never know because you bleed out
less than a minute after Jake disappeared down the hall.

Coming around the fallen machine, Jake says, “Oh
crap, I’m sorry. I had no idea you were down there. I
thought you knew I was planning to tip it so we could just
get everything and that’s why you went to get a bag.”
Kneeling down, Jake continues with, “Wwhat can I do?”

Considering the weight of the machine and the fact
that it’s been forever since you lifted any kind of real
weight, you doubt that even with Jake’s help the two of
you will be able to move it. Looking down into the
darkened area beneath the machine, you try to wiggle
your legs to see if there is any way you can get any
purchase and maybe slide out, but you find nothing.
Ultimately, you give up and say, “Jake, I’m going to need
you to go get some help.”

“Help?” asks Jake.
“Yeah, help. This thing is crushing me and no
offense but I doubt you’re going to be able to lift it off
me.”
“Yeah, I got that, but help from where? The
zombies are everywhere, and I have no idea where to go.”
Sucking in a short breath through your teeth as a
spasm of pain shoots up your body, you say, “Doesn’t
matter. Anyone will do. Just get some help and come
back, man.”
“Okay, I’ll go. Maybe one of the teachers or a
nurse is still available.”
“Just hurry. It’s getting hard to breathe under
here,” comes your short response.
With that, Jake takes off running down the hall,
leaving you to count the holes in the ceiling tiles until he
comes back. When you reach one-hundred the thought
occurs to you that having him running around the school
alone and unarmed might not have been the best
decision, but you hold out hope that he’s okay and
bringing back help. Moving onto the second tile, you find
the number has grown to over three hundred fifty, and
your thought is more like a real concern, but there isn’t
much you can do about it now. When you reach the fifth
tile and your eyes begin to strain against the blurriness
and the count is over a thousand, you finally find that your
concern has been ratcheted up to fear. With nothing else
to do, you decide to try to reach into the machine and
grab something to eat to help take your mind off things.
Feeling around in the darkened machine, you find
some chips, what kind you have no idea, but you reach to
pull them out anyway. That’s when your fingers slip.
They don’t slip because the bag is wedged in or caught on
something, they slip because there is something wet on
the bag. Pulling your hand back, you realize why your
eyes are blurry and where that coppery smell is coming
from. You’re bleeding.
Somehow, when the machine fell, the glass display
window broke, and a shard of glass must have stuck in
your leg. You can’t feel it, which is good, but according to
your health teacher it’s supposed to be a sign of a far
more serious injury. Thankfully, you hear the sound of
someone coming back up the hall, and you call out, “Jake,
is that you?”
What comes back is not the response you were
hoping for. Instead of Jake’s familiar voice, you hear the
low hungry moan of the creature just before it turns the
corner. Now in view, you recognize the zombie for the
person he used to be, Edgar.
Unable to move, you know that there is no way
you’ll be able to defend yourself, and with you bleeding
out the way you are, whatever defense you might have
been able to muster is getting weaker by the minute.
Apparently though, despite being on the verge of death,
you seem to be more than enough alive for Edgar because
he quickens his pace as he approaches. Your final prayer
is that it will be quick, but being a zombie, Edgar doesn’t
understand your request and simply starts by slowly
chewing off your face, beginning with your right cheek.
Up the hall, Jake returns, and he has Mr. Castle
with him, ready to lift the machine and save you, but
when they spot Edgar already on his knees eating your
flesh, Mr. Castle holds out an arm to stop Jake and
whispers, “Sorry. It looks like we’re too late.”
“Is there anything we can do?” asks Jake.
“Going down there just puts us at risk to end up
like your friend. Let the zombie have him. It’s one less for
us to contend with,” says Mr. Castle before turning
around and heading back to whatever safe haven he has
set up.

Taking a quick minute to try to stretch and work
the pain out of your leg, you notice that something is
missing. It takes you several seconds to realize what it is,
but eventually you recognize that the area around you is
strangely silent. No birds chirp from the tree branches
near you, no dogs bark from the houses and yards
surrounding the school, nothing. It’s as if all of the
animals received a memo which humans were not privy
to, a memo which states that you are now all on the
bottom of the food chain, prey, and there is a new, more
deadly, threat in town.

Not wanting to wait around any longer to find out
just how bad things may have gotten, you begin to hobble
away from the spot you’ve been standing in, and find that
even with your efforts to reduce the pain and stretch the
muscle, things still hurt too much to get you very far, very
fast. Reluctantly, you admit that your best bet at this
point is to go back into the school and get some help.

Dragging your leg in a limping fashion, you begin to
make your way around to the front of the school. As you
round the corner, however, you spot several figures
stumbling their way across the street, heading from the
church towards your location. One of them, an older
man, walks like he’s at the supermarket the way he leans
on his walker with the little tennis balls on it. Not wanting
to be outside when they eventually get over here, you try
to pick up the speed, wincing with every step as you make
your best effort to hustle to the front entrance.

When you get there, you find that the doors are
locked as usual, and you have to ring the bell to wait for
someone in the office to buzz you in. You know there will
be questions, particularly how and why you’re outside the
building, but as long as you get to talk to someone in
charge and get some help for both your leg and the
people up in Miss Millstone’s class, then it doesn’t matter.
You press the button next to the door twice, staring up
into the camera mounted on the wall the whole time,
hoping that you’ll be recognized and let in the building
quickly, but nothing happens. No bells, no buzzes, no one
talking through a speaker, and you start to assume that
because they called for the lockdown that they are not
answering the door. Then you realize the other potential.
Maybe they’re not answering because they can’t. Maybe
the zombies are inside the office too.