Zombie Elementary (2 page)

Like I said
, for the longest time there were no zombies at all at Brooks Elementary School.

Then one day, there were. Just one to begin with. Alex Bates from Mr. Womack’s class. It was after lunch. I was taking a message to the office when I saw him coming down the hallway. He was shambling in a weird way, with his arms extended out like he was playing blindman’s bluff. Without the mask, of course.

So I said, “Hey, Alex! What’s up?”

And he said, “
NNGAARRRGGGGHHH
!!!!”

Which was a pretty strange thing to say, I think you’d agree.

Just when I was wondering what to say next—maybe something about baseball tryouts—he came right at me. He had his arms outstretched, like I told
you, and his fingers were sorta grasping at something. At me.

“Hey! No grabbing!” I yelled at him.

I know that sounds kinda dumb. Honest, I had no idea he was a zombie. I’d never seen one before. Not even in movies. My mom says I’m not old enough to watch scary movies. I guess that’s a shame, really, cause I’d missed out on the educational part.

I could see he was pale and a bit green, like he was gonna throw up. I just figured it was the meatloaf we had for lunch. I mean, the meat was gray. Gray meat? I wouldn’t eat it, and I can eat anything. Almost.

“No grabbing!” I yelled again. He kept lurching toward me and groaning that terrible noise, “
NNGARRGGGGHHH
!!!!” And then he moaned something like “
BRAINNNSSSS
!”

Which I thought was real weird, as nobody calls me that. Pretty much the opposite, most of the time.

Just then one of the ladies from the office stepped into the hallway. (I gotta say, the staff at Brooks Elementary doesn’t put up with too much garbage from students, and yelling and moaning while class is going on just doesn’t cut it. “Not tolerated,” as they say.) It was Mrs. Burnett-Cole, who is mostly pretty nice. Anyway, soon as she called out, “Alex Bates! What is the meaning of this?” (just like the principal says it), he turned around and just went for her. Like a big dog or something. Not like jumping up to play, either. Like a savage dog. She flailed around at him, but suddenly he was trying to bite her and she was screaming at him. Something about the principal not liking this at all. And then just screaming.

I ran like crazy, just to get away.

I’m kinda embarrassed about that now.

A bit later
, when we were taking a math test in class, there came this noise. Sorta like scraping at the classroom door. I looked up from my paper—it was long division, and I was trying to divide 187 by 17, which was hard—and saw it was Mrs. Burnett-Cole from the office. Maybe she’d brought something for our teacher, Miss Scoffle. I was glad to see she was okay, after all the trouble with Alex.

Except she wasn’t okay. She didn’t seem able to work the door handle, so she just scratched and kicked away at the bottom. And she had her face pressed up against the little window, rubbing her cheek against the glass. She was mouthing something; I couldn’t hear it, of course, but I’m pretty sure it was “
BRAIINNNSSS
!!!!”

“Stop staring around, Barry Mallet!” yelled Miss Scoffle. She’s about three hundred years old and super
grouchy. She taught my friend Jermaine’s father when he was a kid, and Jermaine’s dad is pretty old himself.

Jermaine says Miss Scoffle taught George Washington too, but I don’t believe him.

I pointed toward the door, where Mrs. Burnett-Cole was baring her teeth and pounding with her knuckles. Miss Scoffle just frowned at me and shouted, “No time for questions, Harry Gullet! Just do the best you can. You’ll find out what you got right when I grade your papers.”

I put my head down and figured out that 187 divided by 17 equals 13. That took me a good long while, and when I raised my head again, Mrs. Burnett-Cole was gone.

The bell rang. I noticed there was a red smear on the glass as I left the classroom. I was pretty anxious to go home, but there was a big sign to stop us from going down the hall past the main office. It said, “Alert! Do Not Enter! Chicken Pox!”

I’d never seen a sign like that before. A bunch of kids had measles last year, but nobody put up any signs.

I caught the bus.

At home I asked my mom if she’d ever seen a kid with chicken pox go nuts and attack a grown-up. I made the same noise that Alex had, best I could, but she just shook her head and gave me that smile that grown-ups make when they don’t want to hurt a kid’s feelings.

“I’m so lucky to have a child with a vivid imagination!” was what she said. I wanted to answer that I hadn’t imagined anything, but she turned away to finish making dinner. Sloppy joes and Tater Tots, one of my nine top-favorite meals. (I like to make lists.)

Dad came home, and I asked him about chicken pox too. I did a real good impression of how Alex had acted, including the part about “
BRAIINNNSSS
!!!!” I staggered around, screaming, “
NNGAAARRRGGHH
!!!!” and knocked a lamp over. I could tell my sister Honor
thought it was good, but Dad just poured a drink and told me to ask Mom, which I’d already done. Then he said something about the lamp and my allowance.

I watched TV for a while and went to bed. That part’s pretty ordinary.