I'm Kind of A Zombie

CHAPTER SIX

  “Alex!” both my dad and my brother shouted at once, as they saw me before them. They both entered the room.

  I raised my hand to stop them. They stopped.

  I hit the keyboard.

  HELLO DAD HELLO ERIC ITS ME ALEX DONOT BE AFFFRAID DO NOT BE AFRAAID PLEEAASE.

  My dad looked confused. Eric looked totally creeped out. Eric hit the lights.

  I ducked my face down, so they couldn’t see it.

  “What is going on?” My dad demanded.

  I typed again.

  DAD SOMETHING BADD HAPPENED I AM NOT DOING GOOD BUT ITS ME DON’T BE AFRAID

  “Why would I be afraid? What’s happening? Why aren’t you speaking? Look at me!”

  I looked at him. And he and Eric looked back.

  Dad’s jaw dropped. Eric screamed.

  I put my hand up. Eric stopped screaming and started crying. Dad had a gun in his hand. He raised it at me.

  I raised my hand back. He kept the gun pointed at me.

  “Eric,” my dad began, with a shaky voice, “If you are in there, you better prove it now!”

  And so I typed again.

  ITS ME DAD I SWEAR I DONOT KNO HOW BUT I AM ME I DONKT KNOW WHAT HAPPNED PLEASE HELP ME

  “Dad he’s a zombie!” Eric yelled, horrified. “He’s a zombie!” His eyes were very wide and round, and he almost became as pale as me.

  DAD DONTT SHOOT ME PLEASE HELP ME CALL DOCTR OR SOMEETHNG

  My dad slowly lowered his gun. He was breathing heavily, trying to speak between each breath. “Uhn, no – can’t, can’t be! – I, oh my God – how, how – Alex???”

  I set the keyboard to my side. I stood up, swaying slightly. I reached up and pulled the hood from my head, revealing my face and head fully. I didn’t want to look my dad or my brother in the eyes, just yet. I felt so, so – well, it’s odd. I felt every emotion at once in my head but nothing in my body. It’s like I was on painkillers that shut the feelings away.

  “Alex?” Eric said in a cracked, quiet voice.

  I nodded. Well, more like a tiny head bang, but he saw it was a nod.

  “Are you a human, or a – zombie?” he managed to utter the last word breathlessly.

  I didn’t know how to answer that. So I just shrugged. The motion looked like I was trying to crush my head with my shoulders.

  I sat on the bed and grabbed up the toy keyboard.

  I WAS IN THE MALL I HAD A EPLEPLECIC FITT AND A ZOMBIE BITED ME AND I HAD ANOTHER ELPETPIC FITT AND WOKE UP LIKE THIS

  “Why can’t you speak?” My dad asked. He was pale. He looked like he was going to go into shock. Poor dad…

  I snarfed and snarled, grunted and barked. After my demonstration, I typed what I was trying to say.

  IM A ZOMBIE. EVER HEARD OF A SPEAKING ZOMBIE? I DONNT KNOW I CANT SPEAK I TRIED

  “I can’t believe this is happening…” my dad gasped to himself.

  “Are you going to stay this way?” Eric asked, “ I mean, are you going to be a zombie but still be…Alex? Are you going to flip out on us?”

  I DON’T KNOW I DON’T THINK SO ZOMBIES GO CRAZY WHEN THEY FIRST BECOME A ZOMBIE I DON’T KNOW WHATS HAPPENING CALL A DOCTOR

  I thought for a second. I should take my condition seriously.

  AND BE CAREFUL WITH ME I DON’T WANT TO HURT YOU BY ACCIDENT IM SCARED

  “We’re scared too, son,” my dad began reassuringly – though he more needed the reassurance himself, “but we love you and we don’t want to hurt you. But we understand. We’ll work together through this, okay?”

  I looked up away from the typing toy. I looked up into my dad’s eyes. Color was returning to his face. Earnest was in his eyes. And he didn’t break eye contact with my eyes, which must be horrid, pale, zombie eyes. I felt calmer. I felt touched.

  THANKS DAD I LOVE BOTH OF YOU I’M REALLY SORRY I REALLY AM SORRY I SHOULD HAVE STAYED HOME

  “I’ll call a doctor,” my dad said, as he put his gun back in his holster. He turned and went downstairs.

  Eric just stayed there staring at me. Less terrified, but still it put me on edge.

  DON’T JUST SIT THERE STARING AT ME IT CREEPS ME OUT

  He started gasping. He swallowed, and calmed his own breath. “I’m sorry, man, I’m sorry – but you are a zombie, but still Alex, and – Jesus I’m just sorry!”

  I set down the typing toy on the bed. I turned on the bed and reached for the window, slamming it down, closed. I crawled off the bed, awkwardly. I grabbed the typing toy in one arm. I went to leave the bedroom, and looked my brother, Eric, in the eyes. I went to slap him on the shoulder, and he let out a squeak of pain as my hand landed heavily upon him.

  I let go of him before I made things more awkward. I walked passed him.

  I noticed how hard my feet were falling on the floor. My old human walk made gentle thudding sounds; my new one was much heavier.

  I lurched down the staircase, careful not to trip. I was also careful not to drop my typing toy – my only mode of communication to real humans.

  Eric followed behind me. At a distance…

  We went into the kitchen. My dad eyed me, and looked at my mouth. He stuttered and stopped speaking. He looked back up at my eyes in alarm. “Did you – hurt someone?”

  I must have had blood on my mouth from the zombie brains I had earlier. I understood his alarm totally. I vigorously jerked my head left to right, shaking “no”. I put the typing toy on the kitchen table.

  NO DAD I ATE THE ZOMBIE THAT BIT ME I WAS HUNGRY

  “That’s gross!” Eric said, looking like he was going to vomit at me.

  “Eric!” My dad said, hushing him.

  IT WAS ONLY FAIR

  I typed, making a grim joke. Eric didn’t laugh.

  “Hello?” Dad spoke into the phone, as someone picked up his call. “I know it’s late, sorry – yes I do have an emergency. My son got – well, he’s very…sick. Very sick. It’s kind of hush-hush, if you know what I’m saying. You don’t know what I’m saying…well, understandable.

  “Could you please come here? Yes, now. Great, thanks. I really appreciate it…”

  Dad hit the button on the cordless, and set it on the kitchen table.

  He backed against the kitchen table and leant on it with his hands, taking in air and letting out a long troubled sigh.

  About 5 minutes later, the cordless phone rang. Dad grabbed it back off the kitchen table. “Hello? Yes – what’s up?”

  He pursed his lips and swallowed. A nervous habit of dad.

  “I see – yes, of course. Well, yes – yes, I think he’ll be fine until the morning. I understand. A lockdown, of course. Should of thought of that. I mean,” dad forced what was supposed to be a smile, which looked definitely like a grimace, “wouldn’t want the zombies to get at anyone, right?”

  I smiled. Or at least, my lips parted in a squarish snarl.

  UM, YEAH. I’LL SPEAK FOR MYSELF, I typed, starting to use punctuation finally, by the way. Cheer.

  The comment perpetuated the grimace/smile on my dads face for a moment, as he hung up the cordless and put it back on the kitchen table.

  “Lock down – no roads into town. You’ll just have to stay the night.”

  Huh? I just stared at him.

  Dad blushed. “I didn’t’ mean it that way!” he said defensively. “This is still your home!”

  Crash! Something struck the plywood at the front door of the house.

  Dad and Eric both gasped and looked toward the door. Something was grunting and snarling as it clawed and beat at the plywood barrier. A zombie, of course.

  “How on earth?” My dad exclaimed, surprised and anxious.

  “How did it get passed the zombie watch, dad?” Eric demanded in shaky voice.

  I sighed – uttered a long breathy purring growl. I stepped over to my keyboard heavily.

  SOMEONE’S AT THE DOOR. I’LL GET IT.
br />   My dad looked at me in worry. “You don’t have to do this for us, son,” he said. “I can probably handle this with my gun.”

  I looked at my keypad, averting his eyes.

  DAD. I’M A ZOMBIE. WELL, KIND OF SORT OF. I DON’T KNOW WHAT COMES NEXT FOR ME. BUT I WANT TO AND CAN DO THIS.

  Pound, pound, crack. The plywood was weakening. The zombie outside growled.

  I didn’t break my gaze away from my keypad. I had some emotion building up inside, and although my zombie body acted as a barricade from emotion escaping, I just couldn’t look at him yet.

  I MAY BE A ZOMBIE, BUT YOU ARE STILL MY FAMILY. I’M STRONGER NOW, AND I CAN TAKE CARE OF YOU. LET ME DO THIS FOR YOU AND ERIC.

  The keyboard toy spoke in it’s monotone voice, which was about as monotone as my body would let me be.

  “I’m proud of you, son.”

  THANKS DAD. BUT DON’T HUG ME, I MIGHT CRUSH YOU BY ACCIDENT.

  He kind of smiled.

  Pound, pound. Snort, growl.

  “Alex!” Eric called out suddenly. He looked at me sternly. “I have to give you something!” He ran and thundered up the stairs, I guess to go to his room.

  I looked at my dad. He looked at me.

  We both shrugged.

  Eric thundered back down the stairs. “Here,” he said, as he handed me two objects. A vintage metal army helmet, and a baseball bat. He placed the helmet on my head. “This was grandpa’s,” he stated. Then he shoved the baseball bat into my hands. “This is mine,” he said, of the bat. “And,” he said, as he produced a roughly cut square piece of cardboard, about a foot across in width. He raised it like a sign in front of him. “This is yours!” he said. Written on the cardboard was: “I AM ALEX HENRY. I AM NOT DANGEROUS. DO NOT SHOOT.”

  I looked him in the eyes. I didn’t know what to say. It was odd.

  “What, don’t want to wear this? Trying to look good, in your hot pink hoody and purple cargos?”

  Crap, I didn’t notice.

  IT WAS DARK, OKAY??????

  “Nice shoes, though.”

  DON’T GO THERE.

  Eric shook his head and looped my sign around the front of my neck, and made it hang down onto my back.

  Pound, rip, CRACK. The zombie howled. It was almost in the house.

  STAND BACK, I commanded, through my keyboard toy.

  Eric and dad backed away, out of the kitchen and into the front room.

  I stood facing the doorway, baseball bat in my right cold fist.