Get Zombie: 8-Book Set (55 page)

I think I heard Nora go, “Hmmm”.

Right when the beast was on him, Paul yelped and shot up and made a
mad dash toward us, toward the stream. The zombie fell forward and
grabbed his ankle. He fell and rolled over and kicked the zombie's
head off. Bad idea, I thought. You had to kill the brain (everyone
knew that part), but with the head so far away from him, he didn't
have a chance.

And that was true.

The zombie climbed his body.

Rotting hands blasted out of the ground and held Paul's limbs down as
the bride zombie tore his neck open and played around with his
insides. It looked like she was searching for her lost wedding ring.
Tiff looked away and vomited all over her feet. Nora gazed at the
ground and shook her head. The bride zombie stood and, with its arms
out, walked around. It stepped on its own head, shattering it into
pieces, and the zombie fell over...dead.

I felt sick.

Old, buried memories came flashing across my eyes – of my dad
with all those zombies swimming over him.

Nora sighed.

“Let him go,” she told Mr. Rose.

He loosened his grasp on me. I shot up and made to punch him. Nora
held me back. Mr. Rose smiled and backed away and held his hands up.
He smiled. This all meant nothing to him.
Just another day in the
woods with people getting killed by zombies,
he was thinking.
Oh,
well....

Nora cupped my face in her hands. She could tell I was fuming mad.

“Boss, I believe you're next,” said. “Use your
energy wisely.”

I nodded and crossed the stream. I tried not looking at Paul's
trembling, dead body, but I couldn't help it. The zombie-hands pulled
down all together, and Paul exploded in a brilliant red splash.

I screamed out like a girl.

Silence.

Then I heard Tiff weeping...then birds chirping...then the wind
whispering nonsense into my ears. I yanked free a cross made of two
sticks and tore it apart. I stood there with those two stakes in
hand, waiting.

I just waited.

And waited.

A tumbleweed bounced by.

There was no need to walk around. I could
feel
them all around
me. Might as well conserve my energy and wait for them to come to me.
Somehow, I could sense Nora agreeing with me.

I heard a groan and turned to my left. A zombie climbed out from a
brown puddle. It wore a yellow hardhat and a tool belt – a
variety of screwdrivers and hammers included. This zombie had a long
beard that ran down to his bullhead-shaped belt buckle. Like the
bride zombie, his head was a bare skull. BUT, this one was
quick
.
It still walked funny, but it walked with a purpose. It opened its
mouth. The zombie made to moan, but no sound came out, only a rat.
The pest bounced on the ground and zipped back up the zombie's leg,
disappearing into a hole in its torn pants. I ran up to the zombie,
screaming, and ran my stakes into its eye sockets. Nora cheered me
on, yelling things. The zombie fell back against a tree. I grabbed
the zombie's hammer and pounded the stakes deeper. The zombie held my
shoulders.

It didn't seem to care.

Maybe it wanted to die.

I tossed the hammer over my shoulder and grabbed the stakes and
started mixing. The brain inside the skull turned to mush. I could
feel it – like mixing tough dough. Then the rats came. As if
the zombie was controlling them via undead ESP, the rats ran out from
behind the zombie's bones, zigzagging up my arms and bit me! I
grabbed each one and threw them away. One of those mini bastards took
a trip around my neck. Its rat-claws felt like needles against my
skin. I reached around and took hold of the rat and shoved it into
the zombie's mouth and pushed the monster back into the puddle.

I made too much noise.

Damn!

More zombies were coming: From behind trees, from out puddles, from
under the ground...some even fell from trees (one zombie had a bird's
nest on its head, baby birds chirpin' for Mama). Dead-hands popped
out of the ground, reaching around for my feet. At one point, I was
jumping around like a football player at practice, trying to avoid
the bastard-hands. Then living-dead faces popped up from the mud,
trying to bite me. Somewhere, a baby was weeping. All too confusing.
I cried out to Nora.

“Have I murdered enough zombies?! Can I come back now???”
I asked, still hopping around like a damn fool.

I was
trying
to
smile
.

Nora yelled back, hands waving: “Come on back!”

She looked pleased.

“I am pleased!” she yelled.

Mr. Rose opened the squeaky gate, and I ran through huffing and
puffing. He slammed the gate shut with a BANG. The zombies stuck
their arms through, hands hungry. I ran over that stream with zero
heroism, zero grace – afraid for my odd life. I lost my footing
and fell in the shallow stream, and for a second I thought I was
drowning. I took in a mouthful of water. Total fear and confusion. My
brain was on fire.

It all sunk in then: I came
this close
to getting eaten by
zombies.

Nora dragged me out of the stream and gave me mouth-to-mouth. I
didn't even know my insides were filled with water. I just kept
thinking about zombies. My mind was betraying me. I kept picturing
zombies eating me out. I didn't know if I was afraid or excited.
Maybe there is no difference.

Next thing I knew, I was coughing up so much water. Even a small
fish. It flopped on my stomach. I think that Mr. Rose-guy snatched it
up and ate it. Actually...I'm pretty sure I remember him doing that.

Mr. Rose and Tiff and Nora standing over me. They were clapping. I
was helped up to my feet by someone. Then I heard weird sounds.
Complaining sounds? Was someone crying? I wasn't sure. My ears were
filled with liquid.

After a minute, I was back to “normal”.

Tiff, weeping a storm....She was up next.

Tiff forced herself to go, to cross that stream. She was crying, and
Nora tried talking her out of it, but the girl didn't want to quit. I
remember thinking,
Just quit. You don't wanna do it, then don't do
it. At this point, you're just being stubborn. You've already lost.
Accept it. Quit. It's respectable.
I heard Tiff mumbling to
herself, motivating herself as she tiptoed across the stream. She was
saying something like, “I need this money. I don't wanna be a
waitress anymore. Please, God, let me win. Just give me my monies. I
just want my own, quiet place. I can do this. I MUST do this.
Anything is better than working at a
job
.”

I couldn't help but feel sorry for her. A part of me wanted her to
win. Can you believe it? In a stupid way, a part of me
wanted
her to
win
.

The zombies were still there – walking around with nothing much
to do – strolling around, uninspired. Tiff walked into the
cemetery, and Mr. Rose, using a very long stick, shut the gate behind
her and ran off. I think he was smiling. Tiff looked over her
shoulder, right at me, our eyes locking. I thought,
Tiff, pick up
a stake. Do what I did.
To my surprise, she looked around and
took apart a cross and held the two sticks close to her chest.

She walked toward the woods, into the center of the cemetery.

The zombies sniffed the air and jumped her.

Mr. Rose made a whining sound and began yelling.

“Tiff! Oh, God!”

Nora and I looked at him, then looked at each other, then back at
him.

Tiff screamed out for help. A zombie had her in a headlock. She
started punching the zombie in the gut. Much gore fell out, but
nothing useful happened. Mr. Rose yelled again.

“You can do it, baby!”

Baby?

The zombies tugged on her arms and legs, holding Tiff up in the air!
Mr. Rose took hold of his long stick.

“I'm coming, Honey! Baby!” He ran to the gate, fiddling
with the lock. “Honey-baby!”

Nora just stood there.

“I knew it,” she said. “You cheating bastard! I
hope they eat her all up!”

Mr. Rose called out for help, but Nora turned around and folded her
arms. I was tempted to help, but what if she jumped on me? Nora was a
total mystery. I had no idea what she was capable of. Honestly, I was
more afraid of her than I was of the zombies. Mr. Rose opened the
gate and began hitting the zombies with his stick, bashing them on
the head. More zombies in the scene now – so much, I could
barely make out Mr. Rose and Tiff. I heard them screaming –
calling for my help. Calling out MY name.

I
broke
and ran to them.

Nora grabbed my shirt and threw me to the ground. I crawled back like
a crab. My mind raced.
All right,
I thought.
If I have to
fight this crazy dame, then that's just how it's gonna be.

Nora took in a deep breath, rolled her eyes, and ran to the cemetery.
She fought those zombies. It was an amazing display of martial arts
action. But it was too late for Mr. Rose and Tiff. The zombies
already had their limbs, munching on them like greedy slobs. One
zombie had Tiff's hand in its mouth (I could tell by her
yellow-painted fingernails). The hand stuck out, fist opening and
closing.

Nora was is trouble.

She didn't scream out for help. I ran to the gate, but she kicked it
shut, separating me from the zombies that tried to reach out and rip
my face off. They had her. They tore her clothes off and ate her out
– at her life-giving bits. She didn't scream out.

Not once.

In fact...I saw her smile.

I vomited all over the zombies behind the fence, and I ran down the
stream with my hands over my face.

It was all my fault.

That's just how I honestly felt.

I went back to the condo and told everyone what happened. They began
to worry about paying the rent. I told them we'd all have to get
jobs. They didn't like hearing it. Many of them just sat down on the
carpet with their legs crossed, meditating with great-big smiles on
their faces. Some of them began singing – some kind of Jesus
song about how everything was going to be all right.

“Just put your faith in the Lord,” they sang. “Just
put your FAITH in the Lord.”

These damn hippies,
I thought.
Some of you guys are 10
years older than me, and you're acting like little kids without a
care in the world.

People began arguing about who was going to work. No one wanted to do
it. More and more people sat down and crossed their legs and just
joined the other people as they meditated – as they blocked
their brains from reality. It was like they were sleeping. People
sleeping their problems away. It was a sign of depression.

A young woman walked up to me and asked about Tiff, about how she
died. I told the sad tale, and the girl nodded.

“I told her to stay away from that man,” she said. “Tiff
was always too thickheaded to listen to reason. She always has
something to prove.” She paused. “I mean...
had
.”

This girl was named Lynn. I never saw her before. She said she was
new – that Nora saved her from a zombie in Waikiki when she
swimming. “Damn thing almost pulled me under!” Lynn said.
“Must've been walking around down there for months, maybe
years!”

Nora offered her a place to stay.

“I never want to go back home,” she told me. “I
like it here. I hate my parents. They've been trying to control me my
whole life. Maybe I don't wanna be a nurse. Maybe I don't wanna go
back to school. Did you know that in a thesaurus, another word for
college is prison? Maybe I don't wanna marry Alfredo Malltabon just
because his family is rich. They wanted me to milk him for all he's
worth, understand? These are my damn parents. Living in fear, always
complaining about being poor. Always complaining about money. I'm
sick of it.” She gave me a serious look. “I'll
work
for my spot here.”

The remaining people still awake (maybe around 5 of them) were
fist-fighting. I was too short to just walk in their and break it up,
so I threw vases at them. They stopped after the ninth one. They were
all bleeding, but they said it was a fair move on my part. I was
impressed with how fast and easy it was for these hippies to center
themselves. I told them that I'd be the first to find a job, if
that's what it took to inspire people to do the same. They all looked
at each other and nodded. NOW they were smiling and happy. They began
to dance around, holding hands. I don't know why, but some of them
started spitting into mouths. Maybe it was a religious thing. I chose
not to question it.

I told them my plan: I'd go around, walking the streets, stapling
fliers for my zombie hunting business here and there, sticking fliers
behind as many store and restaurant windows as I could. I ask if
anyone would be interested in helping me. Many were interested; many
raised their hands. But then I asked if anyone
wanted
to help
me.

They all put their hand down.

Except for one person.

Lynn.

After ten hours of walking around, handing out and posting fliers
under the blasting sun, my feet began to hurt. I took my gray
sneakers off and massaged my feet. Lynn sat down next to me and
offered a beer. I told her, “No thanks,” concerned about
the police. She replied by downing a can in one go and crushed the
can against the side of her head and threw it into the busy street. A
car ran into another car, and both drivers jumped out with baseball
bats. They looked at us, looked at each other, shook hands, and ran
at us, yelling bloody murder.

Lynn laughed and took my hand, and we ran off behind a building,
climbing into a dumpster. We heard the men run by, complaining and
excited. I couldn't hold my breath anymore. I pushed open the cover
and jumped out of the dumpster. I couldn't breathe. Lynn pulled out
another beer. (Where was she getting these from?) She put a hand on
my shoulder.