Can You Survive the Zombie Apocalypse? (31 page)

He takes the twenty dollars, runs down the hall, opens his locker, and runs back. He sticks his hand out, grinning. “I copied the key,” he says proudly.

Hmm. Badass. You open the door, step inside, and begin rooting through the closet. “Man, I can't find a damn—Billy, come here.”

Silence.

“Billy?”

You poke your head out.

Billy's on the floor, shaking, a little monster girl on top of him.

“Fuck!”

Frantically, you search through the closet for anything of use. A roll of paper towels. You chuck it at the girl—it bounces off. Billy's screaming, fighting with everything he's got. You root through the janitor's closet. More crap. Cleaning supplies. Pile of rags.

In the back, a mop, still attached to the bucket. You grab it. The girl's about to go in for the kill. You whip the mop and bucket around like a giant hammer and smash it against the thing's head. The plastic cracks. Soapy water covers everything.

The thing rears back, stunned. Then charges at you. You swing again, into the thing's legs, sweeping it off the ground.

“Fuck me—if anyone up there is watching me now, I'm sorry.”

You put your foot on the undead girl's throat, pinning it to the ground. Then you snap the mop over your knee and slam the splintered wood down through the undead girl's eye.

“Billy, you OK?”

He gets up.

“You bit anywhere? You bleeding?” you ask.

Poor kid's scared to death. But he shakes his head no. You give him a good once-over. He's OK.
Phew
. You order him back to his classroom and he goes, happy as hell to be away from his dead classmate lying on the floor.

In the very back of the closet you find what you were hoping for—a Weed Whacker. Battery powered. You rip the plastic cover off the blade, turning it into a giant circular saw on a stick. You rev it up. Give it a squeeze. The blade spins. Yeah, this should do.

You return to the gym. The zombie kids, along with a few zombie teachers, continue to attack the trailer. The door is coming off at the hinges.

OK—if you're going to do this, you have to do it now.

Oh, Lord. It's gonna take a lot of Hail Marys to shed this one. This isn't a prostitute-in-Amsterdam-during-spring-break type sin. Nope—this is a decapitating-little-kids sin.

No time to think about it.

You kick open the double doors. Rev the whacker to get the zombies' attention.

As soon as you see the kids, you don't feel bad—just fear. Twisted faces. Gray-green skin. Scary as all hell.

Stay strong, you tell yourself.

“Alright, kids—let's dance.”

Half of them leave the trailer and head straight for you. One out in front, a little athletic kid, leads the pack.

As if in slow motion, you raise the weapon up, taking off the top of its head. Spin around, swing it, split the face of the next. Chop off the next at the legs. Dance your way through the moaning crowd, blood spraying with every wave of the weapon.

They've pried the door open. You have to move. You approach the trailer, a heap of bodies in your wake. Raise the Weed Whacker high and bring it down on the head of a kid who's about to slip inside the trailer door.

You whip it around, clearing away any others that are around you. Their chests slice open and they fall back.

Two loud honks. Praise the Lord. A school bus—just outside the gate.

“Let's go!” the driver shouts.

You rip open the door. Students and teachers are huddled as far away from the door as possible, scared. They look at you with horror. You realize you're still holding down the trigger to the Weed Whacker and it's spraying blood and gore all over the place. You let go and it whirs to a stop. “Sorry…”

You don't get the hero's welcome you were hoping for.

“C'mon—there's a bus outside, we have to go. I'll be right behind you.”

They run for it. You stay beside them, swinging the Weed Whacker and keeping the little bastards at bay.

They all scramble aboard the bus—you get on last. “Alright, we're out of here,” the driver says.

“Where to?” you say.

“North.”

“What's north?”

“I don't know—but it's away from here.”

“OK—one sec though—gotta get the other kids.”

“Huh?”

“Gotta pick up Mrs. Henderson's class.”

“What?”

“Hang tight—three minutes.”

You rush back inside the school. The kids are in their class, staring out the windows, just like you told them not to. “C'mon, we're going, now.”

“Where?”

“North.”

“What's north?”

“Ice cream.”

They chase you down the hall and out into the bloody schoolyard. They shriek as they see the dismembered bodies of a hundred of their classmates. You tell them not to look, just get to the bus.

You pull out your cell phone, hand it to one of them. “Kids, call your parents.”

Then you turn to the driver. “Alright, let's roll.”

THE POOL CUE AND THE
BIG BUCK HUNTER
SHOTGUN

You take the pool cue from the table, slip it into your belt, and grab the
Big Buck Hunter
gun.

You stand at the door to the hallway. You can hear the things beyond it. “OK,” Anthony says, “if your little idea about the toy gun is right—then that's a big help. So you're going first.”

Anthony unlocks the door.

You let out a long, slow breath of air. For a moment you feel brave—like you've got it all under control. You know that moment and that feeling won't last, so you have to ride the wave while you can.

With everything you've got, you kick open the door. It hits one of the zombies, sending it stumbling back.

You raise the gun and cock it—then you remember it's fake, and cocking it is ridiculous. But you keep it raised—stick it right in the face of the first zombie.

Annnnd… it doesn't do a damn thing. You could be pointing a feather duster for all it cares.

It lunges at you. You grab the Buck Hunter gun with both hands and block its attack. It pushes you back and crashes to the ground on top of you, lashing away with vicious teeth. Fear pumps through you. Behind it, you see the others approaching.

You struggle. Fucking stupid toy gun—what the hell were you thinking?

Suddenly blood sprays out from the beast's back like it just sprouted a pair of red wings. Anthony stands above you. He wrenches the ax out of the creature's back, then yanks the
zombie off you. You're barely back on your feet when another lunges. It goes for Anthony.

You drop the gun and swing the pool cue across your body, catching the beast on the side of the head, just before he has a chance to bury his teeth into Anthony's shoulder. The thing smacks into the wall. You give it four more hard hits to the head and it drops.

Anthony takes the lead now, swinging the fire ax. He decapitates one. Splits another one's head open down the middle like a coconut—has to jerk and wiggle the ax to get it free.

He catches the next one in the side, dropping it. It squirms on the floor. You go to work on its head, bashing it with the pool cue until it stops moving.

You continue down the hall like this—Anthony keeping them at a distance with long, lethal swings of the ax. Those that he maims, you finish off.

Finally, there's only one left. Tall guy, in a gray suit. Looks a bit like your old high school principal—if your old high school principal had one arm and half a throat. This one clearly hasn't learned a damn thing from any of his friends.

It charges.

Anthony swings.

And misses.

The blade goes over its head. The beast hits Anthony square in the chest. Digs his teeth into Anthony's side. Anthony howls, tries to push it off. Instead he trips and falls back.

You crack the pool cue over the beast's head. It does nothing, continues feasting.

You turn to run.

Fuck. Anthony's hand around your ankle.

“Help me,” he says, blood coming from his mouth. “Help me.”

Oh God. You try to shake free. Can't. His fingers squeeze. You can't move—can only watch.

The thing works its way up Anthony's body, foreplay almost,
then digs into his neck. Blood spills. Anthony's hand opens. Releases you.

Thank God. You turn to run back—you need reinforcements.

Then something tackles you from behind. Digs its teeth into your back. And just as suddenly, it's gone.

You roll over. Anthony stands over you. His eyes are milky, unfocused. They dart around, looking you over. Then he bends over, grabs you by the waist with his huge hands, and picks you up. He wraps his arms around and squeezes. All the air shoots out of your chest. You can't breathe. You kick. Struggle. Anything to get free. Don't want to die like this.

But you're going to.

Anthony squeezes tighter. You hear a crack, pain shoots through your chest.

Anthony opens his massive jaw. Brings his head forward, so it's just an inch from yours. And then he sinks his teeth into your face…

WELCOME TO LIBERTY ISLAND