Zombie Elementary (20 page)

I had no time to think about having only five minutes to be alive—you know,
alive
alive—because Granny came out of the kitchen carrying a big steel tray with something wrapped in tinfoil. Elsie looked at it and started crying.

“I knew there was something wrong with the meatloaf on Thursday. I mean, it’s always pretty disgusting, but this time it was really bad. It smelled okay—I’d have thrown it away if it smelled bad—but
it was a weird color. It kind of glowed. That’s not right.”

“Where’d it come from?” asked Chucky.

“Usual place. The Education Department runs the school lunch program. The food itself comes from a giant factory owned by a massive corporation that manufactures institutional meals, truck tires and industrial chemicals. They arrange for healthy nutrition to provide for our children’s dietary needs.”

“Our children’s zombification needs, yew mean,” said Chucky.

Elsie was really tearing up now. “I served it as meatloaf on Thursday, spaghetti with meatballs on Friday, cheeseburgers today, and—I hate to admit this—I was planning on souvlaki with a Greek salad tomorrow. Maybe lasagna the day after. I have to keep on and on until it’s all gone!”

“That’s five straight days of exposure!” said Jermaine. (He always has to show off his math skills.)

“I know!” wailed Elsie. “It just won’t go away! That’s why I had to stay—to end this thing!” She showed how serious she was by jabbing the meatloaf with a big metal fork. We all jumped back in case some of the meatloaf juice splashed on us.

Chucky looked around at us. “Yew know what ah said yesterday?”

“That we should let scientists from BURP analyze it?” said Jermaine.

“Nope, Jermaine. It was yew said that. A real smart, forward-thinkin’ solution as would provide definite answers to deal with future outbreaks.” He reached down and picked up a big plastic jug. “Ah said we should douse it in gasoline and set fire to it.”

“Right now?” I said.

“Just as soon as our guests arrive.”

Just about then I heard a splintering noise
, like the front doors were giving way.

“The front doors are giving way!” shouted Francine, just so we knew.

“Right,” said Chucky. “Now, ah want yew kids to creep out the back door, sneak around to the front and bring my truck around.”

“We’ll stay and fight!” I said. Francine nodded and held up her lacrosse stick. She was ready.

Jermaine looked at us like we were idiots. Chucky threw him the keys. He knew how to drive.

“Be careful with the truck,” said Chucky. “It’s old but it still runs good. And it’s paid fer. Now all of y’all
GIT
!”

So we
git
, like Chucky told us. We headed out the back door. Francine stepped out first with her stick, and
I had the Slugger ready, but there was nobody there. No zombies, I mean. Behind us I heard “
BRAIINNSS
!!!” and “
NNGAARRRGGGHHH
!!!!” I guess the undead had already broken into the cafeteria. We ran like heck.

The truck was outside the front of the lunchroom, where Chucky had parked it in his usual way. The cafeteria doors were smashed in, and I could see hundreds of zombies inside. It looked like the ones who’d been beating on the windows were breaking in as well. They didn’t take any notice of us. We jumped in the truck. Jermaine cranked it and threw it into reverse on his third try.

“You know they only sent us here to get us away,” said Francine. “They didn’t want us to—”

“What?” I said.

Just then there was a huge, like, popping noise from inside the cafeteria, and flames were everywhere. Our school lunchroom was on fire.

The building was burning real serious. Like, smoke coming out of the roof and flames at the windows and sounds like little explosions.

“Gasoline and saturated fats,” said Jermaine. “They don’t stand a chance in there.”

“You think we should check if Chucky and Granny and Elsie are waiting for us?” I asked.

Jermaine and Francine gave me a pitiful look, like I was totally clueless.

“Okay,” said Jermaine. “Let’s drive around the back.”

Just as we drove maybe
three hundred feet around the building, the cafeteria turned into a fiery, um, something of fire. The roof was alight.

I guess I’d figured out that Jermaine and Francine were pretty sure nobody was going to make it out of the lunchroom alive. I got a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. I thought I was about to cry.

Then we turned the corner, and I saw figures moving. Jermaine had to decide whether to stop or speed up. If they were zombies, he needed to run them down. But it was Elsie running toward us. Jermaine hit the brakes and skidded to a stop. The head lunch lady reached the truck. Granny was behind her. She turned and hurled another Amazin’ Japanese Chopping Knife back at the burning lunch room.

“Dang it, Granny!” came a voice. “Yew almost hit me. Again.”

I opened the door so the ladies could get in. I was going to ride in the truck bed, so as to be polite. When I jumped out, I could see that Chucky had his chainsaw fired up and he was facing off against a whole bunch of zombies at once. I grabbed the Louisville Slugger.

I
knew
these zombies. I saw Coach Chicka, so I guessed we wouldn’t be practicing this week. I saw Nick Wasileski, whose brother Jeff was the one who got away dressed in his catcher’s armor. Behind him was—huh, guess Jeff didn’t get away after all. Luke and Jonathan Torres were shambling along behind them. There was Hunter Jordan and Will Naylor, and all the Pirates except Eric, who’d run away. There were a couple of cheerleaders hopping along, trying to wave pom-poms. There was Miss Scoffle. “Come up to the blackboard, Donny Muller!” she croaked.

And Alex Bates, who started all of this by eating The Meatloaf That No Kid Should Eat.

Most of them were on fire, of course. I guess if you’re a zombie, being on fire is no big deal.

Chucky was working the chainsaw like a circus
acrobat now, and the zombies all clutched the sides of their heads and backed away from him. I guess the noise hurts their ears even when they’re on fire. I was distracted by the chainsaw, so I didn’t notice Alex Bates had snuck up behind me. I felt his fingers touch me—and the remains of a cafeteria cheeseburger drip down my neck.

I guess at that point I should have said something cool, like “Not today, sucker!” or “This time it’s personal!” like they do in movies, but I had nothing.

“
NO GRABBING!
” I yelled.

I knew what I needed to do. It was a grudge match. I wriggled free just as he was about to chow down on my ear. I had the Louisville Slugger, hickory wood, thirty-two inches long, weighing twenty-four ounces, possibly once touched by Cal Ripken, Jr. It was a bit too big for me.

I swung the Slugger as hard as I could and his head flew clean off. THWUNKK!!! It bounced against the side of the dumpster. The rest of him, still on fire, flapped around and fell down.

Francine grabbed my arm and hauled me into the back of the truck. Chucky leaped in as well, and
Jermaine gunned the engine. But just then a van raced in front of us. It read “Dictionary Emporium” on the side. A second vehicle pulled in behind it, then a third and a fourth. They were identical vans except they all said different things, like “Whale Blubber Treats” and “Pet Literacy Service.” You know, stuff nobody’s interested in. Smart.

People in orange hazmat suits—that’s what they call ’em, right?—jumped out and started hosing the zombies with some sort of green goop from big tanks in the backs of the vehicles. The zombies stopped, quivered and fell down.

The goop put out the ones who were on fire too.

One big guy was yelling orders and directing the hazmat team. Some of them were spraying down the zombies. Others were dragging the zeds into a huge truck marked “Bouncy Castles for Senior Citizens.” I guess it was a hospital on wheels. Two of them carried Nick Walker. He was still trying to bite them.

Pretty soon they’d hauled all the zombies I could see into the truck.

The big guy pulled off his helmet and grinned at me. “Hey, Larry! Good work!”

“Hey, Mr. O’Hara!” I answered.

“Sorry to be late. The traveling BURP team”—he indicated all around—“just got in from saving Pleasantville and Sunnydale. And we got all this goop to cure the zombies. One day I have a thimbleful of the stuff in a syringe, next day I’ve got a hundred barrels full. That’s how it is when you work for the government.”

One lady in an orange suit came up, carrying Alex Bates. His head, I mean. Another two people dragged the rest of him. “Patient Zero, boss,” said the hazmat lady. “First one to eat the meatloaf.”

“Good work, Quach, McGuire, Gibson,” said Mr. O’Hara.

“You can put him back together, right?” I asked.

Mr. O’Hara gave me the look my dad had given Honor after her gerbil had gone to the vet and didn’t come back. “Well, Larry, sometimes in life things don’t—”

There was a huge explosion behind us.

Our school needed a whole new cafeteria building.

Anyhow, that’s about it, I guess.
All the kids and most of the teachers had barricaded themselves in the library. Ms. Ostertag thought it was the best meeting of the reading club ever. The BURP folks cleared the scene of zombies, stuck ’em all in the giant truck and headed out. No muss, no fuss, as Mr. O’Hara said at the time. He told us he figured the zombies all followed Alex back to the school because Alex wanted a cafeteria cheeseburger. Seemed like a reasonable explanation to me.

No zombies since then, anywhere. Trust me, I’ve kept a lookout this whole time.

School was out for the rest of the year. It was almost the end of the school year anyway.

None of the adults ever said a thing about it, far as I know. The local news said there was a grease fire at the cafeteria that got out of control.

My dad took over coaching the Tigers. He never did ask why I had the Louisville Slugger. He’s pretty hard on me as coach, though, ’cause nobody likes it when the coach’s kid gets treated better than the other players. (Even when he
is
better than the other players.)

The Pirates sorta dropped out of the league, what with nearly all their players being zombies and all.

A few days after school got out, I saw the Wasileski boys and Nick Walker at the mall. Last time I’d seen ’em they’d been zombies. Zombies on fire, covered in green goop. They looked okay now. I guess the government goop really did work like Mr. O’Hara said. I think maybe I was the only one who thought it would. I know Jermaine didn’t. Not sure even Mr. O’ Hara ever really did.

“ ’Sup?” I said. (It’s not really a question.)

“Not much, dude,” said Jeff. His brother nodded. I looked to see if his head was on right. It was, but he wasn’t one of the ones I hit with a bat. Nick Walker smiled. Nice guy. Maybe he’ll be back with the Pirates next season.

My family took a long vacation over the summer. After we got home, I saw Alex Bates. I was shocked.
I thought—well, you know what I thought. He was wearing a cone around his neck, like Mr. Snuffles had to wear that time when he kept biting at his stitches. “I got a neck injury,” he said, normal voice and no “
BRAIINNNSS
” at all. And he pointed to stitches of his own, where I guess they’d sewn his head back on.

“What happened?” I said. (Like I don’t remember, right?)

“Can’t recall a thing about it, Larry,” he said. “Last thing I remember was some really great meatloaf.”