CHAPTER FIVE
That damn zombie did this to me. It bit me. It bit me!
I became so angry.
I turned to face the zombie. It was still there, tottering aimlessly around by the urinals. I growled at it.
Which was unusual. Zombies terrified me usually. But I indeed have anger toward it. This was very unlike me.
I lunged at it angrily – my enemy. It barely paid me any mind. I struck it heavily with the palms of my zombie hands, with zombie strength. It fell backward against the white laminate wall between two urinals.
It grunted and barked, and scrambled to its feet. It glared into my eyes with animosity. It knew I was attacking it.
That’s right, zombie. I’m fighting you!
It staggered at me and lunged with it’s gnarled hands outstretched.
Now, growing up with a brother, I learned some basic tech in grappling and dirty fighting. Really basic things, but that’s all you need to out-skill a zombie, whom is too stupid to apply any skill. They have only claws and teeth.
I strong-armed him in his chest with harsh force. He was flung back with the blow. I lurched toward him. I struck him with both hands into his zombie face. He staggered backward further, back against the urinal walls.
I needed to make a fist out of my hand. I looked down at it, and growled, forcing each finger to obey me, curling each one into a fist by my own will, overpowering their awkwardness. I was able to form a white fist with even whiter knuckles. I brought my fist back, and forced it to fly at the zombie. My aim was terrible. I hit him in the right side of the forehead, and caused his head to bounce against the wall. He growled and reached for my throat. I grabbed his thinned wrists with my zombie strong hands, and wrested them against his chest. I forcibly slammed him against the urinal wall, again and again.
I let go his wrists, and made a fist – quickly this time, as if I taught my degraded brain a new trick – and with a roar I pounded the zombie square between the eyes.
The zombie crumpled from the blow. I knocked its circuits out.
I had to finish the zombie off. He would rise again.
I looked around the bathroom. A sink – I could club him with the sink.
I went over to the sink, and wrapped my arms around it. I jerked at it, and jerked again. I wrenched it from the wall, water spraying everywhere from it’s ripped pipe. I brought it over to the fallen zombie, and smashed it’s head with it.
I won’t describe what it’s head looked like afterwards, but let’s just say that it was definitely staying dead.
Wow. I just took out a zombie. One of my own kind, I guess I could morbidly say. Did I commit murder?
Sense of humor didn’t improve. But at least I still have it.
I left the bathroom and the dead zombie. I went back out into the mall.
But I couldn’t just leave the mall. It was nighttime, and a lock- down imminent. And so, people were on watch. They would just go and kill me. That would suck…
I headed toward the generic clothing store in the mall. I needed to change out my bloodied pants and my shirt, into something fresh. Look more human.
When I got there, I found to my dismay that it was locked up. The chain security wall was pulled down and locked to the floor. There, beyond the chained wall, hung sweaters and sat folded pants and shirts galore, just beyond my restricted reach. It was cruel.
But there was a back door. I remember discovering it when I had to sneak out of this store once, when I was trying to evade someone. But I was only there once. It was some hallway that also lead to the back of the shoe store.
I turned and lumbered as quickly as I could back to the shoe store.
At the back of the store, between two stuffed shelves of shoes, was a door. I fumbled with the handle. The door opened. I could have cheered – in fact, I tried, and only made more zombie sounds.
I flung open the door and went into the narrow hallway. It was quite dark back there. Actually, when I think of it, it probably is totally pitch black, but I have my zombie vision now. Is this how they creep up at you during the night? They can see so well. I guess vision is one of their plus points – besides the two-dimensional thing.
The hallway split off to the left at one point, but if I remember correctly, that left turn leads to a back exit of the mall by a dumpster, so I kept going straight.
At the end of the straight hallway, there was another door.
I fumbled with the doorknob, trying my luck.
But it was locked. Fail.
I decided to try to kick the door down. I raised a leg, and then with my trusty zombie balance, I fell over, hitting the floor with a snort. Glad nobody saw that.
I stumbled up, and started pummeling the door furiously with my zombie hands, non-stop, like a machine.
The doorframe was thick, but it was made out of wood. The catch in the doorframe gave way to my zombie strength with a crunching splinter of wood, and the door swung open.
With it being so dark, it was even harder to see the different color of clothing. Everything was basically shades of grey.
I picked out a hoody, which appeared to be a very light grey, and then a pair of cargos that looked close to black.
After wrestling my way into the hoody, I had an interesting time changing pants. I ripped the cargos at the crotch while attempting to stomp my way into them, and I angrily grabbed another. I figured out how to put on pants as a zombie: first, you take off your shoes (oops…), then you lie on your back, tug the pants onto your legs, and sort of double-stomp into the air while you grip the waste of the pants at your stumach.
I then spent a decent amount of time trying to use the zipper and button. I couldn’t get the zipper, but then I was able to crush the snapping button together with a zombie fist.
Then I put back on my shoes, and didn’t even try to redo the laces and tie them up properly. But I was finally ready to go.
Almost ready, anyway.
I experienced a whole new zombie-only characteristic. A characteristic that made me understand why zombies run so hard and so fast, and so endlessly, to get humans. I felt zombie hunger.
It almost drove me crazy!
I had to eat something. But there was only one thing on my mind: humans.
But there was no way I was going to go and eat a human! That would be gross – actually, it didn’t seem gross, but that would definitely be wrong! I’m not a zombie!
Well, sort of not.
But I couldn’t starve to death. I can’t end it all now. I had to figure out something. I had to think.
Well, a zombie still has human sort of flesh parts. Like a part of the brain that was still alive. I could eat another zombie’s brain.
So I made my way back to the bathroom and gave that zombie it’s just-deserves, let us say, for all the humans it probably ate itself. I will spare you the details.
Then, I went back to that employee-only hallway, and took the turn-off hallway to the back door of the mall, the garbage/loading door. I in turn pummeled that door. But this door had a metal framing, not wooden like the last one.
So once again, I decided to attempt a kick at the door.
I bent against a wall, for support, raised one leg, and with a jerking motion, launched it at the door. Bang. Direct hit. With the force of my zombie kick, the door ripped open at the catch.
And then I fell over again.
I got up, again, and put my head through the doorway, craning my neck to look to the left. No one was around. I stepped out cautiously, and looked to the right, around the edge of the open door. No one there, either.
I grabbed the hood of my hoody and pulled it over my head. I head to remember not to try to talk or utter anything, as it doesn’t come out right, ever. Also walk as normally as possible.
I forced my hands into the pockets of my hoody, and walked down the back lot. I tried to pace myself and make my movements look more graceful, more human. I
improved, but I still walked like I either I had two sprained ankles or I had crapped myself.
I walked up the street.
“Hey!” I heard a shout.
I glanced up from underneath my hoody, to my left. It was the redneck guy from earlier. He was sitting on his front porch, with a six-pack of beer cans and a shotgun on his lap.
How Ironic, I made a joke like that earlier. The last joke I made while I was fully human.
“What are you doin’, man? Didn’t I see you wander out this morning?” He had a definite slur to his speech. It must have been from the first six-pack of beer he went through before his current one.
I clenched my jaw. I remembered not to speak. Especially to the drunk-and-dangerous Red the redneck.
I shrugged my shoulders and bowed my head again, and slowly walked away. It wasn’t only that I was hiding my features that would set him off – it’s otherwise that he’s just pretty much the opposite of a genius when it comes to a social life.
“What, why are you walking like that – did you crap yourself?”
You see what I mean?
I just went on, ignoring him at my peril.
“Whatever man, just get yerself home, son!”
He threw a beer can in my direction.
I small zombie snort escaped my throat, as the can hit the ground near me.
“Idiot!”
Yes, you said it. I will never go roaming around a zombie endangered town again. Oh, wait. Too late.
After some controllably slow walking, I came pretty near my house. I saw the sherriff’s car out front my house. And I realized why. I had been out all day. A day before a lockdown. My dad and brother got scared and called the sheriff.
We were too small to have a police station or for our town to be on any cop beat. But we did have a sheriff.
I could not approach from the front. I would totally get toasted. I’m a zombie, after all. The sheriff would totally take me down, Alex Henry or not. Once a zombie, always a zombie – shoot on sight.
So I made my way around and snuck through a couple of back yards to the rear entrance of our house. It was of course boarded up.
But there was a ladder lent up against my window. I guess my brother and dad boarded up the doors and window of the first floor on the outside, and crawled up to the second floor with the ladder, and left it there for me to climb, for whenever I arrived at night.
Well, dad, and brother, here I am. Thanks.
Kind of difficult to scale a ladder with zombie awkwardness, but I got the drill down.
I got to the top, and my window was left open. With lack of grace, I dive-bombed through it, and landed on my bed, which cushioned me from making any noise. I was very thankful.
I heard the sherriff’s car roll away on the street. He must have missed seeing me crawl up the window, just barely. I dive-bombed just in time. So he was gone. This made things less complicated.
I had an idea. I have this dumb toy under my bed, my younger cousin left there when he had visited a while ago. It’s like a typerwriter with a screen, and you type into it and it speaks. I could type-speak to my dad and brother!
I remembered my lack of dexterity in my hands. So I decided to practice first.
I managed to gently close my bedroom door and press the little lock button the center of the doorknob.
Then I sat down on my bed and placed the typing toy on my lap. I raised my hand, and made a fist. I struggled to find the muscle for just the index finger, so I could extend it.
I finally managed to make the index finger stick out in a crooked claw, and made my left hand do the same. With both fingers, I attempted to stomp on the keyboard.
“WSFVIJOO VJK PV90UW4EJK 3.K-0;’LK.”
Hmm, not bad.
HJELKJLO DASSDD. ITS MNMDE. AWSLKERX. ALKEX.
Better.
ERRIC., ITS MNE. ALKEX. ASSLLEX. ALEX.
Almost got it. I concentrated:
HELLO DAD HELLO ERIC ITS ME ALEX DONOT BE AFFFRAID DO NOT BE AFRAAID PLEEAASE.
That will have to work.
“Did you hear voices?” I heard Eric say downstairs.
Crap. They heard the stupid typing toy speaking.
Up they came, and I heard the slowed footsteps on the stairs as they cautiously approached.
They came to the door. They tried the handle. It was locked.
“Alex?” My dad shouted from the other side of the door.
I didn’t want to go to the door. I didn’t want to try to talk back. So I just stood there and waited.
“Let me pick it,” I heard Eric tell dad. I heard a metal device being poked through the tiny hole at the other side of the doorknob. Then I heard a ping as the little lock button popped back out, unlocking the door. Then the door opened.