GRANDMA? Part 1 (YA Zombie Serial Novel) (2 page)

I wasn't stupid. Zombies weren't real. They were fictional, like vampires, and honest politicians. If I had to take a guess, it was a serial killer in the closet, made up like a zombie to scare people. Or some lunatic who thought he was one of the walking dead.

But it couldn't be a real zombie.

And he couldn't have got down in the basement so fast.

Right?

"Josh?"

My brother didn't answer.

I took a step, and the giggling stopped. I did, too. I pulled out my cell phone out of my shorts pocket, using the blue screen to see ahead of me, a foot at a time.

I took another step.

One more.

My arm flailed above my head to feel the ceiling for the dead light bulb.

There it is.

I quickly unscrewed the dead bulb, but I went too fast and it fell out of my hand.

Oh no…

The light bulb bounced on a step, then smashed somewhere near the bottom with a telltale tinkling sound.

I winced. I wasn't wearing shoes. My flip-flops were out on the pier, and my gym shoes were in the bedroom.

It'll be ok. Just be careful

I pinched the new light bulb from the two pack case and carefully screwed it in. I went to the light switch and flipped it on waiting for the nice glow of a white light.

But it didn't turn on.

I flipped the switch multiple times.

No light.

I reached up, making sure the bulb was in all the way. Bad bulb? Problem with the socket or switch?

I should have looked for the flashlight instead.

"Randall?"

It was a whisper, so soft I couldn't tell if it was Josh or Grandma.

Or someone else.

I'd heard the term
skin crawl
but didn't know what it meant until that moment. It meant you felt like you were covered with bugs because you were so afraid. The hairs on my legs, arms, and neck all stood up and wiggled. If the closet man was downstairs, I'd wet my pants.

But it could have been Josh and Grandma, needing my help.

I shook off my nerves and forced myself to act.

Ready or not, here I come…

I used my phone to light my descent, testing the stairs with my toes. I did NOT want glass in my foot. I remember when my Dad got a large piece in his heel, and he had to go to the ER where they had to use a scalpel to dig it all out.

I knew there was a light switch at the bottom of the stairs, one that flooded the whole basement with nice, bright fluorescent light. All I had to do was make it down five or six steps.

I kept my hand on the left side of the wall as I went down.

One.

Two.

Three.

"Randall?" It sounded like Josh.

I blew out a breath. "Josh! Yes, it’s me. Turn on the lights."

Josh didn't respond.

"Josh?"

"I… I can't."

"What? Why?"

"Grandma said if I do, she'll kill me."

I paused for a second, replaying the words in my head.

"She said what?"

No answer.

"Grandma?"

I might have heard some whispering, but neither one replied. I took the next step and—

CRUUUNCHH.

Glass shattered under my right heel. But I was careful enough to not step on it hard, so it didn't penetrate.

I took another step and I felt the texture on my feet change. From wood to cold cement. I used my phone light on the left wall and found the light switch. I flicked it on.

A flash of white light blinded me for a moment. I squinted until my eyes refocused.

Then I saw Grandma and Josh, standing in the corner of the basement. Josh was holding Grandma's hand. Grandma was as blue as her dress, with death on her face. Her neck wasn't bleeding anymore, and her eyes were milky white. She didn’t speak. She just stood there swaying back and forth.

My mouth went dry, and my bladder felt full.

"Gra… Grandma?" I whispered.

She stopped swaying, and tilted her head. Her neck cracked several times, like a bag of potato chips when you squeeze it. She squinted her cloudy eyes at me.

Then she let go of Josh's hand and screamed.

It didn't sound like Grandma.

It didn't sound human.

It was less like a scream and more like a roar. And it was real. This wasn't a trick. I wasn't getting Punk'd by Ashton Kutcher.

Grandma wasn't Grandma anymore. She was something else. Something that didn't look like it wanted to give me a big hug and a plate of cookies.

Something that looked at me like
I
was a cookie.

She charged at me, much faster than a seventy-year-old woman should have been able to run.

Even though I couldn't believe this was happening, my legs carried me up the stairs fast as they could move. Forgetting about the glass, I stepped on a big chunk of broken bulb, my foot screaming in pain.

Grandma was still roaring, and I snuck a quick look behind me and saw she was doing a bear crawl up the stairs, just a few feet away. I freaked out so badly that I tripped on the steps, falling onto my chest. I turned quickly around, the stairs poking my back, and Grandma's mouth went straight to my neck.

She bit down.

I cried out, then knocked her away.

Her false teeth slurped out from between her flappy, blue lips, and plopped onto my belly.

I grabbed her shoulders and held her away from me, while her cold hands patted down my body.

She found her teeth, and shoved them back in. Then she smiled.

"How's about a kiss for Grandma?" she said in a voice straight out of Dante's Inferno.

Then she went for my throat again. I put my hands around her neck.

"Grandma! It's me Randall! Stop!"

Grandma didn't stop. Her mouth opened wider and a long rope of pink drool came out, landing on my cheek. I managed to bring my knee up, and I kicked her in the stomach, knocking her down a couple of stairs. Then I scrambled to my feet and leaped up the last few steps and shut the door. There was no lock, so I pressed my back against the old wood, wondering what to do next.

Squeak-squeak.

Oh no…

I looked up. The zombie from the closet—I was pretty convinced by now that both he and Grandma were zombies—was standing in the hallway, staring at me. He still had Josh's rubber ducky in his mouth and was gnawing on it. But now he also had something in his hands.

Grandma's BBQ fork and spatula; the ones she used for grilling hamburgers.

Squeak.

The door creaked behind me, Grandma trying to get out.

The old man began to shuffle toward me.

I decided I didn't want to be on the lunch menu, so I ran into the living room, crouching behind the sofa. The basement door burst open, and Grandma scurried through. She seemed a lot bigger. She glanced at the guy who'd bitten her, then began to search around for me. When she found me, she scowled.

"Would you like some hard candy, Randall?" She reached into the pocket on her house dress, what Josh called her
candy pocket
because it was always filled with peppermints or butterscotch drops. She held out some bloody pieces of candy. "Come give Grandma a kiss, you can have some."

She took a few teetering steps toward me.

"Randall!"

It was Josh, from the basement. I clenched my fist and reached over for the couch cushion. I gripped it like a medieval knight would grip his shield, holding it by the plastic furniture guard. I was determined to knock Grandma over and get my little brother.

"Josh! I'm coming, buddy!"

"There's a man down here!"

I looked for the zombie from the closet, and he was gone. I'd been so focused on Grandma I hadn't seen him go down the stairs.

"Naughty boy, Randall. Messing up Grandma's sofa." Grandma let the bloody candy fall from her hands. "No peppermints for you."

"You're not my grandmother," I said.

"When I was a little girl, children respected their elders. Now come here, and let Grandma eat you."

Then she charged at me. I braced myself under the cushion and ran full force into her. We connected and the impact knocked both of us down. I landed hard on my butt. Grandma's false teeth had come out again, skittering onto the plastic rug runner, stopping next to cabinet where she kept the bird feed. Grandma scurried after them, and I ran down the stairs—

—my bad foot landing on the broken bulb again, making the pain double.

Biting back a scream, I searched around for Josh or the old man zombie.

"Josh! Where are you!"

The basement wasn't that big, but neither Josh nor the old guy was around.

The laundry room!

"Josh!"

I limped across the concrete floor, and opened the door to the laundry room. The old man was poking at the dryer with his fork.

"Hey!"

He looked up at me, the duck in his mouth squeaking. I thought fast.

"Walmart called," I said. "You got the greeting job. It starts today."

He spit out the rubber duck and made a face. "I fought in Korea, sonny. Private Phil Johnstone won't take no pitiful minimum wage."

Then he lunged at me. I dodged to the right and the fork scratched my cheek. Then I pushed him out of the room and slammed the door, propping the ironing board under the knob.

Josh was where I guessed he was, inside the dryer. He was sobbing. I felt so bad. He didn't deserve any of this. I pulled him out.

"It's okay, buddy. We're safe in here."

But as zombie Phil began to bang on the door, I questioned my own words. Both the door, and the ironing board, were old. I didn't think they'd hold up to too much pounding.

I sat down with Josh, holding him. His whines grew louder with each hit on the door.

BOOM!

The walls shook and dust flew out everywhere.

BOOM!

The door's hinges began to rattle, the screws coming out.

BOOM!

The ironing board began to buckle.

BOOM! BOOM!

Two bangs. Grandma had joined the zombie party.

"Randall! Josh! It's bedtime, put on your jammies!" she crowed. "Grandma will tuck you in and read you a story!"

"Cat in the Hat!" Josh said, trying to stand up.

"Shh," I told my brother, holding him back. "That's not Grandma, Josh."

"Then who is it?"

"It's…"

What was I supposed to say? That our Grandma had joined the ranks of the living dead and wanted to feast on our flesh?

"Has Grandma become a zombie?" Josh asked.

"I… I think so."

"I thought zombies weren't real. Like Santa Claus. Or Jesus."

"I don't know, Josh."

"If she bites us, will we become zombies?"

"I don't know."

"Was Jesus a zombie?"

"What?"

"He was supposed to rise from the dead, right?"

"Josh, Grandma is trying to eat us. Can we save the religious discussion for another time?"

"I'm just questioning the historicity of the gospels concerning Christ, specifically the assertions of his divinity without any corroboration outside of the canon."

From the mouths of babes.

"There are mentions of Jesus by historians Josephus and Tacitus," I said.

"Both those sources are hotly debated on the secular web."

"We're about to die, Josh. Let's stop talking about religion."

"Isn't that the best time to talk about it?"

I stared at him. "How old are you again?"

"Look, Randall, I'm just saying that maybe Jesus is real, and a zombie, and he bit a bunch of people and started an epidemic."

"So where have all the zombies been for the past two thousand years?"

He pursed his lips. "Wyoming."

"Wyoming?"

"It's the least populated state, but it's big, almost a hundred thousand square miles. Lots of room for zombies."

"I don't think the zombies came from Wyoming," I said.

"How do you know? Have you been to Wyoming?"

"No."

"Has anyone we know been to Wyoming?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"We don't have any first party proof, only hearsay, that there aren't any zombies in Wyoming. Plus, it's the only state that's a rectangle. It would be easy to put a big fence around the state, keep the zombies in. But maybe the fence broke."

Josh was obvious hysterical, talking nonsense.

"Wyoming is not the only rectangle state," I insisted. "How about Utah?"

"That's got that funny little square on the upper left hand corner."

"North Dakota," I said.

"Squiggly edge on the east side."

"New Mexico."

"Square thing on the bottom, left side."

I closed my eyes, tried to picture a map of the US. Michigan looked like a mitten. Wisconsin looked like broccoli. Louisiana like a boot. Florida… well, Florida looked sort of like a schlong.

"Colorado," I finally said.

Josh's face scrunched up. "You're right. That's a rectangle."

"Told you."

"Maybe they keep zombies in Colorado, too."

"I hear you boys in there, debating theology and geography," Grandma bellowed through the door. "Stop it and let your poor grandmother in. She's starving."

"How about your pocket candy?" Josh asked her.

There was a pause. Then, "Randall ate it all."

Josh turned to me, angry. "You ate all the candy, Randall? You a-word!"

"I didn't eat the candy, Josh."

"Smell his breath, Josh," Grandma said. "Smells like peppermints, I bet."

"Let me smell your breath, Randall."

"That's insane!" I yelled, covering my mouth. I had eaten a peppermint a little while before Grandma had gotten attacked, and the scent might have still been on me. The last thing we needed right now was to argue.

"He took it all," Grandma said, "and when I told him to save some for his little brother, he said Josh stinks like poopy."

"I don't stink like poopy!" Josh yelled at me.

"I didn't say that, Josh. Can't you see what she's doing? Grandma is trying to drive us apart."

"Open the door, Josh!" Grandma screeched. "Then I can give Randall a spanking!"

I could see Josh was considering it. I had to find a way to save us, fast, before he betrayed me and got us both killed. My eyes searched the laundry room for some sort of weapon. All I saw were laundry supplies. I didn't think fabric softener would help in this situation. But above the supply shelf was…