Fifth-Grade Zombies Read online

  I stared at her and waited for her to say more. But she didn’t.

  “I … don’t understand,” I said finally.

  She shrugged. “You agreed. No questions.”

  “But … why are you telling me about the law?” I demanded.

  “No questions. That’s a question,” she replied. She turned back to the sink. “Just a few glasses left. I’ll finish up. You can go to your room.”

  My head was spinning. Why was she being so mysterious? Why was she telling me about a state law?

  I glanced out the kitchen window. A red evening sun was low in the purple sky. “Think I’ll take a walk,” I said. “You know. Get some exercise.”

  I wanted to walk and think and try to figure things out. But I didn’t say that.

  Uncle Jake was still at the dining room table, sifting through a stack of papers. I gave him a wave as I passed by and stepped outside.

  The evening air felt cool against my cheeks. No breeze at all. The cornstalks in the field stood tall, at attention.

  I crossed the yard and started to walk along the edge of the cornfield. I need to chill, I told myself. My brain was buzzing like a swarm of insects was swirling inside it.

  The field was covered in shadow. My shoes sank into the soft ground as I walked along the edge. I suddenly felt as if I was on Mars or the moon or some other planet. The only person here. All alone in this strange, nearly silent land.

  I stopped when I realized I wasn’t alone.

  Two large rabbits stood frozen on their hind legs a few feet up ahead. Their ears stood straight up. They were as still as statues, dark eyes gleaming in the twilight.

  I stood as still as they did and stared back at them. Who will blink first?

  Without warning, they turned at the same time and darted into the tall stalks.

  Todd, you’re not in New York anymore, I told myself.

  And then: You don’t have zombie kids in your neighborhood.

  And then: Zombies don’t go to school.

  And then thought after thought about field rats and snakes and raccoon beds and zombies, all crashing together in my mind, like bumper cars at a carnival, bouncing into one another, sending one another spinning crazily out of control.

  How far had I walked?

  I hadn’t paid any attention. And now, squinting into the dim evening light, the top of the moon floating above the horizon, I realized I’d walked far.

  The end of the cornfield lay just up ahead. I’d walked the entire length of the field. How many acres? I’d have to ask my aunt or uncle.

  A chill tightened the muscles in my neck. The evening air had turned colder.

  I started to turn back—when I saw something up ahead. A long gray object at the very far end of the field.

  I took a few steps closer, squinting into the grayness.

  “Huh?” I gasped when I recognized it.

  The bus. The bent and beat-up school bus. Parked right up against the wall of empty stalks.

  Todd—run!

  Yes. My first thought was to run. Get away from that bus before anyone saw me.

  But something held me there. Something told me this might be my chance to solve the mystery.

  I took a deep breath and started to walk to the bus.

  A cold gust of wind blew against my face, as if trying to push me away. But I lowered my head and kept walking toward the bus.

  The cornstalks came to life and began swaying from side to side, crackling like snapping bones. I heard the flapping of wings overhead. A nighthawk, I guessed.

  I didn’t take my eyes off the bus. It was parked at a slant, tilting toward the field.

  Halfway there, I stopped. Were those voices I heard? Low voices in the cornfield? Or just the wind through the dry husks?

  No. They were human voices. I cupped a hand over one ear, trying to make out the words. What were they saying?

  I didn’t see anyone. But I could hear their voices. Soft and mumbled. Murmured words I couldn’t hear clearly. Were they coming from the bus?

  I pictured those broken, bent kids crawling out from under the stalks. And saw those same eerie figures staggering and stumbling into Room 5-Z at school.

  I knew I should run.

  But I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave. I had to know the truth.

  I’m a New Yorker. I’m not afraid of anything.

  Not a totally convincing thought. But it helped a little as I started to walk again.

  My shoes crunched on dead leaves and corn husks as I stepped to the side of the bus. The windows were solid black. The door hung open.

  “Hey—” I tried to call out. But my voice escaped in a hoarse whisper. I moved up to the open bus door. “Hey—anyone in there?”

  Silence except for the rustle of the stalks in the field behind me.

  “C-can anyone hear me?” I stammered. “Anyone on the bus?”

  No answer.

  I grabbed the edge of the door and pulled myself to the first step.

  Should I risk climbing inside?

  Of course I shouldn’t. But I had to.

  I had to know what was happening here. What was this all about?

  I ducked my head and pulled myself into the darkened bus.

  “Oh, wow.”

  I started to choke from the putrid smell. Like ten-year-old garbage left to rot. My eyes started to water. I shut them tight and held my breath.

  The bus floor creaked under my shoes as I took a few steps into the aisle. I slid my phone from my jeans pocket and clicked on the flashlight.

  In the shaky white light, the inside of the bus looked like a garbage pit. Stuffing spilled from the torn and broken seats. A pile of rotting clothes covered two seats. Torn T-shirts and shorts and pants covered in stains.

  Flies buzzed at the back of the bus. I stopped halfway there. I didn’t want to see what they were buzzing over.

  My light stopped at a brown paper bag on the seat next to me. I tore it open and found some kind of sandwich. Were those worms poking in and out of the moldy bread? Yes.

  I dropped the bag and covered my mouth, struggling to keep my dinner down.

  Did those kids really ride in this disgusting, horrifying bus to school?

  I held my breath, but it didn’t keep the heavy, sour odor from invading my nose.

  “I have to get out of here.” My heart began to pound.

  I turned to the front. Took a step.

  “Whoooa.” I stumbled over something. Fell onto my knees on the sticky bus floor.

  What did I trip over?

  I slid the light from my phone in front of me. A shoe. A shoe left in the aisle.

  Oh, wait. Oh no. Oh no.

  There’s a foot in the shoe!

  A scream escaped my throat. I shut my eyes tight, trying to unsee what I had just seen.

  Blindly, I stumbled to the front and leaped off the bus. Pain shot up my legs as I landed hard on the ground. Ignoring it, I started to run away.

  I stopped short when I saw something moving in the cornfield.

  The tall stalks leaned to the side, crackling loudly. And then I saw kids lurching out from between them.

  Grunting and muttering in low growls, they slid between the stalks and dragged themselves onto the grassy field.

  “Ohhh.” My mouth dropped open and my eyes bulged as I saw them so close. I could see their twisted faces, jagged mouths, cracked skin, and blank, unseeing eyes.

  Their bodies were bent and stiff and moved awkwardly, as if they had little control of their muscles. Their mouths hung open. Even in the dim light, I could see that several of them had no teeth.

  Their bodies brushed the dry stalks as they moved toward me. Frozen in terror, I watched, trembling, as they formed a tight line facing me.

  Run.

  The word rang in my mind but didn’t seem to have any meaning.

  And then, without any thought, I forced myself to stop staring at them. I whirled around, so hard I nearly fell. And then took a step and another �
� until I was running.

  Running hard without glancing back.

  I could hear them coming after me. Hear their ragged footsteps, their mutterings, and their growls.

  I struggled to run faster. My legs ached and throbbed and I gasped for each breath.

  I didn’t get far.

  I cried out as something hit me hard. Hit the back of my head.

  I fell forward. Hit the ground on my elbows and knees.

  Caught.

  I dropped onto my stomach, breathing in short gasps. Over my wheezing breaths, I could hear their low growls. I shut my eyes and waited for them to pounce.

  Waited.

  I opened my eyes, raised my head, and glanced back.

  “Huh?” I gasped when I realized they weren’t coming for me.

  Their bodies bobbed up and down. Their eyes rolled in their heads. They huddled together.

  A few kids shook bony fists at me. A tall boy with skin peeling off his face kept spitting at the ground. Spitting and spitting, although nothing spilled from his mouth.

  Why haven’t they attacked?

  Are they scared of me?

  Still breathing hard, I climbed to my feet. I curled my hands into tight fists—ready for a fight—and kept my eyes on them.

  What are they waiting for?

  A small girl, her clothes hanging loosely on her, began to cough. She opened her mouth wide, coughing and choking. And I saw a large bug flutter out from inside her.

  It buzzed loudly and floated in front of her face. The girl coughed some more, and another fat black bug shot out of her open mouth. The bugs made a droning hum and vanished into the night sky.

  My fists were clenched so tight, my hands throbbed. I watched the zombie kids without blinking. There were at least a dozen of them against just one me.

  I waited to see what they planned to do.

  I uttered a gasp as the girl who had coughed up the insects shuffled toward me. She walked slowly, with stumbling steps, her mouth hanging open.

  I stood frozen. I couldn’t move.

  The others remained in place and watched as she stepped up to me. Her dark eyes locked on mine. I stared into her cracked and peeling skin.

  “Ohhh.” I let out a low cry as she reached a bony finger up. She raised a finger and slowly trailed it down the side of my face.

  A chill shook my body. Her finger traced my skin lightly.

  I felt my legs about to collapse. My whole face tingled from the touch.

  Her eyes burned into mine, as if trying to tell me something. A warning?

  She lowered her finger and took a step back. She staggered toward her friends.

  And then … to my shock … they all spun around at the same time. As if a signal had been given. Muttering and growling, they headed quickly toward the wall of cornstalks.

  A few seconds later, they had disappeared into the corn.

  I still didn’t move. I stood there, fists clenched, my breaths wheezing loudly. I could still feel that hard, bony finger scratching down my cheek.

  What was that about? Why did she do that? Why did they hurry away?

  Finally, I forced my legs forward. I clicked on the light on my phone. And I pointed the light in front of me as I started to run.

  My shoes sank into the dirt at the side of the cornfield as I picked up speed. I ran as if in a dream, following the bouncing, darting circle of light through the darkness.

  Their ugly faces lingered in my mind as I raced back to the house. Their growls and low murmurs repeated in my ears. The girl coughing up bugs … touching my face with that bony finger …

  Zombies.

  Now I knew for certain they were there in the cornstalks. Not my imagination. Not raccoons or other animals. Not a trick of the moonlight over the corn.

  Zombie kids.

  It seemed as if I might run forever along the swaying stalks of the field, blacker than the night sky. I was gasping for breath when the porch lights of the house came into view.

  The windows at the front of the house were dark. Had everyone gone to bed? Were they out looking for me?

  I tore open the front door and stormed into the house. I wanted to shout to everyone to wake up, to come hear my story. But my voice caught in my dry, aching throat.

  I grabbed the banister and pulled myself up the front staircase. My shoes thudded on the wooden steps.

  I turned at the second-floor landing and raced down the dimly lit hall. The bedroom doors were closed. I grabbed the knob on Mila’s door and pulled it open.

  She was sitting on her bed with her laptop resting on her legs. She turned with a startled gasp as I charged into the room. “Todd?”

  “I … I saw them!” I stammered, finally finding my voice. “I saw them, Mila. In the cornfield.”

  I ran up to her side and leaned over her. “I saw them all. You have to tell me the truth. Tell me the whole story. No more lying and trying to keep it secret. Do you hear me? You have to tell me everything!”

  To my surprise, she burst into tears.

  Mila sobbed and sobbed, letting the tears run down her cheeks. I waited for her to stop. But she kept sobbing with her head lowered as if I wasn’t there.

  I crossed the room and shook her gently by the shoulders. “Stop, Mila,” I said softly. “Stop crying. You have to talk to me.”

  Her shoulders heaved up and down in my hands. She sobbed louder.

  I had a sudden thought: She’s faking it.

  She’s faking the tears because she doesn’t want to talk to me. She has never wanted to tell me the truth.

  I felt a flash of anger. But what could I do?

  With her sobs ringing in my ears, I turned and strode out of her room.

  I climbed to my attic room and kicked off my muddy shoes. Then I dropped onto the edge of my bed, took out my phone, and texted Shameka.

  Are you awake? Can u talk?

  A few seconds later, I read her reply:

  Not really.

  Huh? Not really? What did that mean?

  I texted back:

  I saw the zombies in the field tonight. Need u to explain.

  Shameka texted back:

  Don’t start rumors.

  I sighed. This wasn’t getting me anywhere. I had to talk to her. I punched Shameka’s number.

  The phone rang once, then cut off.

  I tried again. It went right to voice mail.

  With another sigh, I tossed the phone onto my dresser and got dressed for bed.

  Mila and Shameka knew something. Why wouldn’t they talk to me?

  The zombie kids knew something, too.

  They knew I had seen them. Would they decide to come after me to shut me up?

  * * *

  At my desk in school the next morning, it was a struggle to keep my head up. It felt as heavy as a bowling ball. I wanted to curl up on the floor and go to sleep.

  I hadn’t slept all night. What was the point of even trying?

  I couldn’t stop thinking about the zombie kids and picturing their twisted, decaying faces and angry dark eyes.

  Miss Opperman perched on the edge of her desk. She was reading something from her iPad to the class. But I didn’t hear a word of it.

  Too many thoughts were bouncing around in my brain. Her words sounded like a jangle of noise in the background.

  I turned and saw that, next to me, Owen was staring at me.

  Did I look weird? Could he tell that I was messed up?

  Everyone laughed at something Miss Opperman read. I pretended to laugh, too.

  I need to know the truth, I decided.

  And suddenly, I knew exactly what I had to do.

  A girl came to the classroom door to say that Mrs. Bane, the principal, wanted to see Miss Opperman. Our teacher started to the door. “Read over your science notes while I’m away,” she said.

  The door closed behind her.

  I leaned over toward Owen. “I’m going to sneak out,” I whispered.

  His eyes went wide.
/>   “I have to find out something.”

  He frowned at me. “Like what?” he whispered back.

  “Like what’s in Room 5-Z,” I said.

  Owen swallowed. He leaned his head closer and whispered in my ear, “Don’t look for trouble.”

  “I’m not,” I replied. “But—”

  He glanced to the door. Miss Opperman was turning a corner down the hall.

  “It’s better to mind your own business,” he said. “Seriously.”

  “I can’t,” I said. I raised a finger to my lips, meaning for him not to say anything.

  Most kids had their heads down, reading over their science notes. A few were chatting quietly.

  I climbed up from my seat and strode quickly to the door. I kept my eyes straight ahead, hoping no one would say anything to me.

  I slipped out into the hall and gazed both ways. No one here. I didn’t want to run into Miss Opperman, coming from the principal’s office.

  I pressed myself against the wall and moved as silently as I could toward the front of the school.

  Holding my breath, I turned the corner into the main hall. I gasped as a classroom door swung open.

  Caught?

  No. The door closed as quickly as it had opened. No one stepped out.

  I sucked in another deep breath and practically tiptoed the rest of the way. Tiptoed past my locker. Tiptoed right up to Room 5-Z. I read the stenciled room number on the classroom door.

  Well, here I am.

  My mouth was suddenly as dry as cotton, and my legs felt rubbery and weak. I stared hard at the words ROOM 5-Z, gathering my courage.

  Finally, I reached for the door handle. Began to turn it.

  And stopped.

  Oh, wow! What is THAT?

  I ducked behind my locker door as two men in blue uniforms pushed open the front entrance. They were hauling a large metal cart between them.

  The cart banged into the hall, its wheels squeaking on the tile floor. It passed right by me. The men had their eyes straight ahead. One of them was talking on a phone as he pushed the cart.

  The cart was piled high with metal tins. Like the big cans that a ham comes in. The cans rattled and bounced as the men rolled the cart along the hall.