
Super Zombie Juice Mega Bomb  
By  
M.J.A. Ware

Digital Edition v1.0 - Published By CG Press LTD.

© 2011 – M.J.A. Ware, Artwork © 2011 – R. Hawkings

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. All trademarks referenced are the property of the trademark owners and have been used without permission. The use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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* * * * *

For Michelle. Sorry it took so long.

* * * * *

> Table of Contents

Chapter 1 – Blizzards, Bites, and Zombies

Chapter 2 – Snookum's Last Stand

Chapter 3 – A Bridge to Nowhere

Chapter 4 – Zombie Snot

Chapter 5 – Zombie Juice, Now with the Killing Power of Lemonade

Chapter 6 - Class Dismissed

Chapter 7 – Walmart Security Gets Tough

Chapter 8 – Really Weird Science

Chapter 9 – When Life Give You Lemons, Kill Zombies

Chapter 10 – Uninvited Guests for Dinner

Chapter 11 – The Going Gets Tough

Chapter 12 – Kid to Work Day

Chapter 13 – There Goes the Cemetery

Chapter 14 – A Fieldtrip to the Firehouse

Chapter 15 – Sodium Bicarbonate Discharge Device

Chapter 16 – Super Zombie Juice Mega Bomb

Chapter 17 – Zombie Fowl Frenzy

Chapter 18 – Home Sweet Home

Acknowledgements

Bonus Story: Hobgoblin Horror

Bonus Story: Bloody Marcy

About the Author

* * * * *

Chapter 1 – Blizzards, Bites, and Zombies

Ever have a really bad day? I'm not talking miss the bus, caught cheating on a test, bike gets stolen bad. I mean people dying and coming back from the dead to eat your brains bad.

This whole mess started one night when my best friend Misty messaged me, "DQ run now!"

I'm as down with Butterfinger Blizzards as anybody, but it was almost eleven p.m. Somehow, she talked me into it—I can never say no to her. I mean, I can say it once or twice, but after eight or nine times, I give in.

You might have guessed, we didn't exactly ask permission. Misty snuck out by climbing down a window above her garage and jumping into an overgrown bush. Maybe it was the three waffle sundaes she'd eaten, but to get back up it looked like she was going to need a boost.

"Ready?" I whispered, clasping my hands over my knee.

"I don't think so, Nate. I'm wearing a skirt." Even in the dim glow of the neighbor's porch light, I could see the wrinkles in her brow.

"Then how you going to get back up?"

"I can climb."

"In your skirt?" I stood back, folding my arms. Misty had always been more t-shirt and cutoff jeans. "Why'd you wear a skirt, anyway? Who sneaks out in a skirt?"

She ignored me and started pulling herself up the rain gutter.  By the third try, I knew, skirt or not, I was going to have to help.

I stepped forward when from behind me came a deep grunt, like a yeti clearing its throat.

Turning around, Misty's dad towered over us, arms crossed, naked except for knit socks and shorts; his huge, hairy muffin-top forcing the band of his briefs into submission.

Even in his skivvies, he was an imposing figure. Picture Atlas, if all he ever held up were jelly donuts. I didn't know if I should laugh or run.

Normally Misty's dad is too nice, one of those big guys with an even bigger soft spot—especially when it came to his only daughter—but that night, boy, did he holler.

He grounded Misty for the whole summer. Not from her girlfriends, just from me—even canceled our camping trip. Our families go every year, so that made it a tradition or something.

Almost three weeks passed before I heard a peep from Misty. I wasn't sure if her dad really came down on her or if she was just too busy to bother with me.

Finally, she called. "Guess I should feel honored."

"Hey, Nate, ready to go camping?"

"Who's this? I think you may have dialed the wrong number."

"Nathan!" she screamed. "Dad's keeping me under house arrest. Even confiscated my cell. It's so humiliating." The echo told me she was probably hiding out in her dad's workshop. "So, you up for camping or not?"

Apparently, no one had bothered to tell her the trip was off. I tried to break the news gently. "Where've you been? Your dad put the smackdown on camping."

There wasn't much to do in our tiny mountain town, so this trip was the highlight of our summer: fishing, ghost stories, eating s'mores until you puke.

"Just because our parents are being stupid doesn't mean we can't go."

I don't normally do crazy things like run away from home. Which is probably why we weren't prepared. We lasted all of one night. Who knew a jumbo box of Little Betty Brownie Bites could go so fast?

On our way back, we knew we were in trouble, but had no idea just how much.

"Maybe running away wasn't such a good idea," I said, scanning the lifeless town. The sun crawled over the horizon, casting long shadows like bony fingers reaching down to clutch the empty streets.

"You think?" Misty said with an edge to her voice.

We'd been walking around for over an hour and hadn't seen anyone. "How'd I know everyone would..."

"Vanish." She finished my sentence. "They're all gone, Nathan. They can't all be out looking for us, not every single person in the whole entire town." She shook her head.

"Calm down. Let's think this out." I listened for familiar sounds, people, cars...even the trees were silent.

"Think what out? Nobody's here. I can't even get a single bar." Misty stood on the side of the road, brandishing her phone like a weapon.

"Updating your online status is the least of our problems," I shot back.

"This isn't a joke, Nate. We're in deep here. Deep, deep, deep!" She paused—probably winded from carrying on so much—then pointed across the street. "Look, someone's there."

From across the road, Mayor Frank waddled towards us. "Just our luck, only person in town and it has to be him?"

"Geez, a little early to be wasted," I said. Besides mayor, he was also the town drunk.

"Mayor Frank, over here," Misty yelled.

"Now you've done it. He's headed this way." I wiped my palms on my jeans; something wasn't right.

"Nate, shut up. We could use a little help."

He almost fell over three times while crossing the street. His clothes looked like they'd spent more time in the gutter than on his back. His eyes, swollen and cloudy—he looked sick. I'd never seen eyes like that.

The mayor didn't say a word, just reached out his two pasty arms. I thought he might shake our hands. He was one of those phony politicians. Instead, he grabbed Misty and went in for a big, open-mouth kiss.

I'm not sure what came over me. I'd never hit anyone—except Misty's older brothers—and then only in a desperate act of self-defense. But I wasn't about to let this creep kiss her.

I cocked my arm back and with everything I had, socked the mayor in the face.

He folded, flat to the floor.

Grabbing my hand, I winced in pain. Misty screamed, her long hair whipping around as she jumped back.

My mind raced. Oh, no. I just punched the mayor. I took a step toward him. "Mr. Mayor, I'm sorry. I thought you—"

I looked down at my hand as I spoke, thinking maybe I busted a knuckle. It throbbed so bad I didn't notice the mayor roll over and grab my foot until it was too late; he sank his teeth into my lower leg.

"Ouch," I yelled as I tried to wiggle free. He wouldn't let go. What was I supposed to do? Ever been bitten by your little sister? Try a three-hundred pound drunk politician.

I just started kicking. After the third kick, my hiking boot flew off, still dangling from his mouth.

"Nate, you kicked the mayor in the face!" Misty's hands covered her mouth, but did little to mask her expression of horror.

We took off running, our backpacks clanking behind us.

"Those are Gore-tex boots, they're over two hundred bucks," I said, running lopsided down the street. If my dad found out, he'd kill me.

I looked at Misty. Her wide, hazel eyes scanned the deserted roads, flashing with alarm. Standing tall, California Firs blocked our view more than a couple blocks. I couldn't help but feel responsible for this mess. I should have tried to talk her out of running away.

Maybe Misty's dad was right; I was a bad influence.

Chapter 2 – Snookum's Last Stand

A few minutes after punching a public servant in the face, we finally stopped running in front of Misty's house with its familiar faded cedar siding. It was old and rustic, but solid. It'd probably last forever.

I wiggled my fingers, making sure they still worked. It never hurt when a guy punched someone in one of those old karate movies Misty and I used to watch.

"Nate, what the heck happened?" Misty was breathing hard. She might have been in better shape than me. Athletic, but definitely not in a big-boned, husky sorta way.

"I don't know." I took a few deep breaths before continuing, "I've heard the mayor is grabby, but that was ridiculous. He could be your gramps. And did you see his fogged-over eyes?"

"His eyes? You shoulda smelled his breath—like a rotting cheeseburger." Misty squirmed from head to toe.

"Wait until I tell your brothers. Or your dad—"

"Nathan Patrick Lewis. You are not to tell a soul." Misty kicked up some dirt as she stood nose-to-nose with me. I'd been praying all year for a growth spurt. If it didn't come soon, she'd be taller than me. "Do you understand?" she said as if she could intimidate me.

"Don't worry, who'd believe me? I mean, the mayor trying to kiss you."

"Kiss me? I thought he was going to swallow my face, and what about you kicking his head like a soccer ball? What the heck are we supposed to do now?" Misty's fingers grabbed a clump of her long, wavy chestnut hair and she started chewing. I knew the hair thing meant she was either shy or nervous—or maybe completely freaked, like now.

"He was really gone. Bet he won't remember." I rubbed my leg where the mayor had tried to take out a chunk. "I'm fine, thanks for asking."

 "Hey, look who's still here." Misty pointed to her neighbor's dog. A spoiled, obnoxious poodle, with an equally spoiled and obnoxious name: Snookums. "Mrs. Redberg would have never left Snookums alone."

"I hate that little rat dog. He always barks at me." He must have heard, 'cause he ran up to the fence yelping at full volume.

I'd never kick a dog, though I've heard poodles fly pretty far. I kicked the fence instead.

"Hey, Nate, stop picking on the dog."

It felt safe in Misty's house, something familiar that never changed. Wall-to-wall thick orange shag carpet, dark wood paneling, even popcorn on the ceiling—with sparkles. The sparkles were pretty cool.

The lock squealed as Misty bolted it behind me. I grabbed a pair of old sneakers. Worn and caked with dried mud, I didn't bother looking for a nicer pair. Her brothers probably didn't own any.

"I'm going to go powder my face," she said.

"Powder it with what?"

She shook her head and closed the bathroom door with a thud.

In the family room, I messed with the cable and Internet. A couple minutes later, Misty came in to supervise. Neither of us spoke. I kept rechecking the connections, more than a little desperate to get them working.

Nothing.

I was opening my mouth to tell Misty that it was useless when the windows, really the whole house, shook with the crack of thunder.

"Summer storm?" Misty asked, her voice higher than normal.

Indian Springs was deep in California's Sierra Mountains. Nothing but rivers and trees surrounded the place. Summer thunderstorms were pretty common.

"Maybe. Sounded more like an explosion," I said.

"This can't be good. Let's look out my window."

I hadn't been allowed upstairs for years. Mr. Wibbles still sat in his designated spot on the head of Misty's bed, but long gone were the plastic horses and pink curtains. Now the room was littered with pictures of her with girlfriends and posters of guys who were apparently so cool it didn't matter how bad their haircuts were.

From her window upstairs, we had a good view, but no sign of an explosion and not a cloud in the sky.

I chewed on one of the straps from my backpack as I looked over the vacant streets. The strap tasted like dirt and charcoal, so I spit it out. What was going on? Where were our parents?

"Think it could be a fast moving storm?" Misty asked.

I looked again. "No wind. I don't think so."

We stared helplessly out the window at the tiny town surrounded by rolling waves of trees and green surf as far as we could see. Finally, we headed back downstairs.

KABOOM!

Another explosion, but way larger. I felt it in my legs, as if the whole earth threatened to rip apart under my feet.

 "Nathan, what the heck was that?" Misty's summer-bronzed skin went pale.

We flew back to the window, dodging pictures that had shaken off the walls and lay scattered along the floor.

Outside nothing changed. Well, almost nothing, that pint-sized dog started barking. Guess I couldn't blame him.

We kept our eyes glued to the window, searching for any sign of movement; a person, a car, even a raindrop would've been welcome. The only change, a silent haze that settled over the streets.

The dog's barking stopped, and in its place came a loud wail. My heart leapt. Could it be a fire truck?

 A quick, desperate, piercing yelp and the sound died. "Nate, the dog. That's the neighbor's dog."

 Goose bumps danced along my spine.

 "Go check it out." Misty started pushing me towards the door.

I tried thinking of an excuse to stay put. "That dog's crazy. He'll probably bite me," was all I came up with.

"You're such a girl. If he tries to bite you, give him a kick."

 "Oh, now I can pick on him," I said as I headed down the stairs. On the way out, I slammed the door to make Misty think she'd ticked me off.

Outside, I grabbed the big wood-splitting axe. Looking at the worn shaft, silvered with age, I wondered if I needed it. My hands wouldn't let go—I took that as my answer.

Hopping the old chain-link fence to the neighbor's yard left rusty freckles on my sweaty palms. I expected the runt to come tearing around the corner any second. Except when I got around back, what I saw frightened me way more than any dog.

Chapter 3 – A Bridge to Nowhere

On the back stucco wall, above the dog's water bowl, a huge stain of smeared blood and fur was all that remained of Snookums. It reminded me of my plate after I ate waffles with blueberry syrup, which until right then, was my favorite.

I'd turned to look away when Misty joined me. "Oh my gosh, what's that?"

"I'm guessing that's what's left of Snookums," I said, swallowing a lump in my throat.

"How the heck can you say something like that?" Misty's jaw clenched and her face turned a shade of red.

"Sorry. I, um, didn't think about what I was saying. I was sorta speechless."

"Then you should keep your mouth shut, Nate."

"You're right, Miss. It just came out. I'm really sorry." I rubbed my hands against my forehead. The day wasn't going so good. Even worse than that time at lunch when I sat on my sloppy joe.

She paused and took a deep breath. "Let's cut each other some slack. Least until we figure out what's going on."

"Yeah, agreed."

She turned away. "What happened to poor Snookums?"

"Don't know." Privately, I took back every nasty thing I'd ever said about the mutt. "Coyote maybe? Let's not hang around to find out." I eyed the sparse forest behind the yard. Years of logging had cleared every decent tree on this side of town, leaving a few sad saplings and lots of ugly stumps.

"Maybe we should get back inside," she said, glancing over to her house.

"Nothing we can do here. Let's head over to Greenburg. See if we can't find out what's going on."

"What if we run into the mayor?" She grabbed my arm.

"Let's just get going." I started walking.

*

"Could have been a chemical leak from one of the big factories, maybe a forest fire?" Misty said, guessing what could have caused everyone to evacuate. Whenever she got nervous, her mouth wouldn't shut.

"My money's on mass alien abduction."

She gave me a cool stare—she wasn't amused. I kept quiet and just let her blabber on about how this couldn't possibly be happening, until we'd walked almost all the way to the bridge.

"Your brother's shoes are killing my feet."

"Oh, Nate." I heard it in her voice; she hated complaining. You wouldn't know it by looking at her, but Misty was one tough girl.

"Seriously, I think they're blood blisters."

"Not your feet, the bridge. Nate, look at the bridge."

I glanced up, not prepared for what I saw. "Whoa—the bridge, it's gone. I mean it's been destroyed."

All that remained were piles of rubble and the steel frame—twisted into a giant crumpled spider web. A huge crater sat where the overpass should have been. Someone really wanted this bridge gone.

Misty stepped forward and looked down at the huge pit. "Who would blow up the bridge? What do we do now, swim across?"

"There's no way I'd take on Bear River. Not this time of year."

"Our families could be over there. Let's find a raft or a boat," Misty said.

"Remember those outta towners who plopped in, one after another, trying to save each other?" Bear River swells all up with crazy currents and hardcore eddies every year. "That river's gulped down entire families. Let's just wave someone down and they'll get help." I stood on a pile of rubble, looking across.

"No one's there," Misty whispered.

We didn't say another word. We just stared across the bridge.

We stood there awhile longer. Still, no one showed: not at the bridge, not in the town, no cars driving by, nothing.

Finally, after standing there silent, just staring for what seemed hours, I lost it.

"I knew we should've come here before going to your house. I knew it!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, hands raised like one of those cheesy TV preachers. "You know what the other explosion was, don't you? It had to be the other dam bridge. They've blown both bridges—we're trapped. Just you, me and that stupid little dog—no, wait—he's dead, how could I forget we saw his—"

Tears flowed. I'd only seen Misty cry one other time. Even when we were kids and she fell off her bike, she'd just shake it off.

She stood there, face in her hands, tender tears trickling down her cheeks. I thought, this might have been the worst thing I'd ever done.

There was only one thing I could think to do. I gave her a hug. In all the years I'd known Misty, I'd never hugged her. Sure, I'd tackled her a few times, but that's just not the same.

She felt a lot softer than I remembered. Maybe she was getting out of shape now that she wasn't playing dodgeball.

It felt weird, like, well, like hugging your best friend. I wanted to tell her it would be all right. That we'd see our parents again, but I was never a good liar.

She started wiping her cheeks. I quickly let go and took a couple steps back. "Um, maybe we should try hollering. See if we can get someone's attention? There still might be someone over there."

"If there was, they would have certainly heard your yelling."

"Yeah, about that—I'm really sorry. This is totally not your fault. I'm really, really sorry." I always messed things up. No wonder Misty hadn't been hanging around me. Sometimes, I don't even like to hang around me.

"Sorry, seems to be a theme with you today. But I'm cutting you some slack, remember?" A small smile slipped out and made me feel a little less like the world's biggest jerk. "So now what?"

The sun beat down on us, as if it'd been glued in place. The air felt stale and lifeless. "No use going to Greenburg if no one's over there. Let's go to Cedar Creek, see if the other bridge is really blown."

Sure enough, the Cedar Creek dry dam was completely gone. Crossing the creek would have been easy, but there's nothing except asphalt and trees between here and Chico. Which is, I don't know, at least a week's walk.

"We could take bikes," Misty suggested.

"No. It's all mountain roads, we wouldn't last an hour."

Drained, dog-tired, and defeated, we headed to Misty's house to regroup. It'd been one fantastically horrible day.

"I can't believe you tried to blame me for the bridge blowing up," she said.

"I didn't say it was your fault; I was just blaming you. There's a big difference."

Misty shook her head. My legs ached and my conscience stung. I didn't have it in me to argue—especially since I was wrong.

We both dragged our feet across the asphalt. The rough sound reminded me of a street sweeper.

"We've gotta get a car. I can't walk around this town anymore." I was still wearing my backpack. Misty had left hers at home.

 "Everyone takes their keys when they evacuate," she said as we passed a house with a TV lounging comfortably in the middle of the lawn.

"Who said they evacuated? Maybe they had all the water extracted from their bodies and they turned to salt. Maybe there was a huge sale at the mall up in—hey, do you see that?"

She had. "Hey mister! Over here, please help!" With her long, perfect hair, Misty could have passed for a cheerleader as she waved her arms up and down.

The glare of the low sun made it hard to see the man caught in the shadows. He was old, shuffling his feet with a slight limp. He turned and slowly started towards us. The only thing I could see was that it wasn't the mayor; this guy was too tall and wasn't shaped like a blimp.

We started jogging towards him. "Oh, thank you. We really need some hel—"

When I turned back to look at Misty, I realized something was wrong.

Very wrong.

Chapter 4 – Zombie Snot

Misty stopped first. I took a couple more steps before turning to face her. "Come on."

I'd seen that look in her eyes twice today. Instantly, knots welled up in my stomach. "Miss, what's up?"

"Aaahh!" Her voice shook.

"What the—" I spun back around, thinking I knew what to expect. It had to be the guy who killed the dog. Even the mayor wouldn't freak Misty out like that.

The fur dangling from his bloody lips told me I was right, except it wasn't a guy. Whatever he or it was, one thing was sure, it was way past its expiration date.

I stepped into the shadow of a tall building so I could see the thing. Skinless, every inch covered in a sticky grayish-brown slime, like charcoal mixed with molasses. And the smell—burnt hair and rotten mayonnaise—even worse than the dumpster behind Harry's Indian and Sushi Hut.

I stood looking at it, completely freaked out. Then it dawned on me that it might be a good idea to get the heck out of there.

The words rattled as they came out, "Le-le-let's-go."

Misty's outstretched hand still pointed at the ghoul staggering towards us; I grabbed her hand and turned. Thankfully our legs worked. We ran eight or nine blocks and didn't stop until we got to her front porch.

"What was that?" Misty asked.

"I don't know." I tried to catch my breath. "I mean, I know, but I'm afraid to say."

Misty seemed winded, but calm, considering what we'd just seen. My knees wouldn't stop shaking.

"What? What do you think it was?" she demanded.

"It's obvious. That guy—err-thing—wasn't alive; it wasn't even all there. But it was taking a stroll down the street. It had to be a zombie."

"I knew you spent too much time watching that sci-fi channel."

"Okay, what's your explanation?" Now my hands were on my hips.

"I don't know." She had a lock of hair between her lips. "Maybe a chemical burn? That could be why they evacuated the town."

"Chemical burn? You can do better than that. That thing looked like part of it was still in the ground somewhere. Did you smell it? That wasn't barbecue I smelled—"

"Nate. I swear sometimes you're disgusting on purpose." She stomped her foot.

 "Look, whatever it was, it's bad news. Let's go in, then figure out what to do."

I forced a smile. Misty blew a few stray hairs out of her mouth and said, "Yeah. Better get in before it comes back for dessert."

*

I didn't feel much like eating, but we hadn't had a bite all day and Misty insisted. So I forced down some Coco Pebbles. I couldn't even finish the chocolaty sweet milk.

"What now? Lock ourselves in?" Misty asked.

"We could go out and kill it, one limping zombie. No problem. We get my dad's gun, then hunt it down." My fingers tapped on her old aluminum kitchen table.

I was pretty relieved when she said, "Hunt it down? I don't think so. We don't know for sure it's even a zombie. We should cross the river to Greenburg. Keep going to Quincy if we have to." She drank a huge glass of milk in one long gulp, then wiped her mustache off with her sleeve.

"Greenburg? Quincy? No way. Who knows how many zombies are there. Maybe none, but maybe hundreds. What if we get surrounded? We'd have no place to hide."

"Okay, then we secure the house, and wait out your zombie invasion watching movies." Misty's eyes patrolled the front window. "Help has to arrive...soon."

"I saw this movie where they waited out a zombie invasion in the mall. The mall has everything: food, guns, clothes."

Misty picked up the phone, smacked the receiver a couple times, then listened, like she might bash a dial tone out of it. Her nails were covered with dirt and chipped pink polish.

 "There's no gun store in the mall. Besides, our mall's open air." That had to be the only time Misty ever turned down a trip to the mall.

 "So, the people in this movie, did they make it?" She twisted the phone cord around her finger. Misty had a corded phone. Her dad didn't buy fancy stuff like cordless phones, new cars, or two-ply toilet paper.

"Don't remember. I think one of them got pregnant."

"We don't have to worry about that."

"The baby turned out to be some sort of monster."

"Aren't they all?" Then she suddenly got excited, "Oh, I got it. We'll hide out in Walmart. It's perfect; they've got everything."

Walmart was the pride of Indian Springs (like I said, it was a small town). We'd beat out every town in three counties for the honor of selling discount merchandise. My dad said it was the only reason Mayor Frank had gotten re-elected. Walmart wasn't a bad idea. Except for one thing, "There's too much glass in the front."

"Oh yeah...Could we get some plywood, board up the windows?"

"Might work, plus I bet it has one of those security gate things."

"Then Walmart it is," she said, smiling with satisfaction.

"Okay, but we'll stop by my house first to get the gun and some clothes." I stood up and my leg throbbed where the mayor had bitten me. I wanted to look at it. See if I was done for sure, but I was afraid of alarming Misty, so I decided not to look.

"I should pack some stuff, too."

As I looked out at the sun cowering behind the mountains, I tried not to think of how messed up this all was. "What's keeping you? We better get going," I hollered up the stairs.

 Misty's old backpack was bursting (literally in some places) at the seams.

"Hope you got enough clothes," I said.

"Yeah, should probably gotten more."

"That wasn't what I meant. But you can pick out some at Walmart"

"Walmart? For clothes? Don't think so." Misty looked at me as if I was crazy. "I wouldn't be caught dead in anything from Walmart."

I hoped it wouldn't come to that.

"We're going to need to find a ride. Something with a trunk," I said, looking out the window at the lonely streets.

"Haven't we been over this? We don't know how to drive and my dad took the car."

"Driving's easy, and I wasn't thinking of your station wagon—more like my dad's Fastback." My dad had a 1967 Shelby GT500 Fastback. Mint condition, in factory powder blue. He only took it out for car shows and the Indian Hills Fourth of July parade.

"That's the first bright idea you've had."

"What happened to the whole cutting me some slack thing?" We'd always given each other lip; it was sorta funny. But lately it'd been getting downright brutal.

As she grabbed her backpack and headed out the door, Misty shot me her little half-smile that raised the dimple on just the right side of her mouth.

I took the big axe and followed. I knew Misty couldn't resist taking the Fastback—no one could, even a girl.

 "Speaking of bright ideas, didn't Greg get an electric scooter last Christmas?" Greg was one of Misty's two older brothers.

Misty's older brothers sucked. Not for Misty, they never picked on her; her dad wouldn't stand for it. But they delighted in torturing me. Fortunately, they weren't too bright, and over the years I'd gotten real good at avoiding them.

"It's really a toy," she said. "But it should get us to your house."

There wasn't much room on the scooter with all three of us: Misty, myself, and the huge axe. She let me steer and put her arms tight around my waist. That was the second time she'd hugged me that day, or our whole lives, depending on how you looked at it.

It was only five blocks to my house, but we still managed to run into a little trouble.

The zombie-type of trouble.

"Let's turn back and take another street," Misty said as a trio of female zombies approached at the end of the block. They could have passed for three grandmothers out in their Sunday best, except their pastel and lace-fringed dresses were soaked in blood.

I stopped the scooter. My first impulse was to dump the thing and run back to Misty's house. When I was six and afraid of the dark, my dad taught me this trick: Stand still and slowly count to ten; then things don't seem so scary.

I stared at the zombies and silently counted to ten.

"Nate, what are you waiting for? Free hard candy? Get out of here!"

Okay, so it doesn't work with zombies, but I realized they moved slow—really slow. Heck, one of them was sporting a walker.

"Nah, they're crawling. We can ride around them," I said, casually waving my hand at her.

I didn't wait for a reply. Daylight was burning, and the elderly-undead seemed so slow I really thought we had nothing to worry about.

As we rode past, they turned to follow. I still wasn't worried; they were way on the other side of the street.

A half-second later, I felt a lurch. I flew over the handlebars. At the same time, Misty screamed.

Now I was worried.

I rolled completely over and landed on my feet. Nice move, except I lost the axe.

I turned and saw one of the granny zombies had Misty by the backpack. I don't want to repeat what she screamed. Let's just say she wasn't eager for grandma to get close enough to give her a kiss.

My axe lay in the street, almost right under them. In one move, I swooped down, retrieved it, and brought the blunt end up, smacking it in the chin.

Crunch—something flew from its jaw.

Misty broke loose. The zombie let out a high-pitched scream. I swung the axe back, about to take a whack at its head, when it turned back and bit down on my arm, making a wet, mushy sound.

"Aah!" I cried and pulled my arm free.

Misty had already retreated several paces. I wanted to take another whack at it, but I realized I didn't even know if that would stop it. I mean, sure it does in the movies, but would it work for real? Could I even hit it hard enough? And what about her two bridge buddies, just a few feet away?

The scooter was thrashed, so we ran.

"Thanks, Nate."

"What the heck happened?" I asked between breaths.

"It jumped me."

"It did what?"

"It jumped—well, it was more of a lurch. It just dove at me as we rode past. Those things are strong—slow, but strong." Misty held a clump of hair; I could tell she was trying not to put it in her mouth.

"I didn't think of that. We'll have to keep farther away in the future."

"What are you saying? Do you think we'll see more of them?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, but this morning we walked from one end of town to the other; the place was empty." I held the axe behind my back, hiding the arm that had been bitten, too afraid to look. "Now we've gone two blocks, three zombies. Speaking of which, they're still following. Let's take a detour. Make sure we lose them before we get to the house."

We'd started down a side street towards the center of town, easily losing the little-old-zombies when I felt a burning sensation on my arm. "Ouch, that stings."

"What, what is it?"

"I don't know. My arm, it burns. Aah, it really burns." I stopped and grabbed it. I couldn't help but look. It was bright red, but I didn't see any blood—only faint bite marks.

"Nathan, it's turning red!"

"Quick. Some water!" I started to panic. I looked around, but couldn't find any, not even a spigot.

"You musta been bit. You're turning into a zombie!" Misty's eyes bulged as she stared at my arm.

"Just get me something to put on it!" I yelled.

"There's the Pizza Pit. I'll get some water." Misty ran off towards the shops down at the end of the street.

It seriously burned now, like holding your arm under scalding water. Tears rolled down my cheeks. I fought the urge to scream. I wasn't a crier, but this sucked.

Unable to wait for Misty, I used the only liquid I had: saliva. I didn't know what else to do; I just spit on my arm. It helped, so I kept doing it. A second later, I heard the crash of shattering glass.

"Here's some water—Yuck!" Misty returned with a big glass. "What are you doing? That's disgusting."

"Yeah, but it works. Pour that on my arm." The water took the rest of the burn away. It still stung—I mean really good—but no more burn. "Hey, did you break a window in the Pizza Pit?"

"Yeah, I had to get in. The door was locked, so I grabbed a patio chair and viola! A glass of water."

> "Wow, you're my hero."

> "Shut up."

"Hope they don't find out it was us. That's the only decent pizza in town." I smiled and added, "Seriously, thanks."

"What did that to your arm?"

"It must have been..." I thought for a moment. "The zombie. When I hit the zombie, it bit my arm."

I looked down. I had the world's worst Indian burn. "Miss, did it touch you?"

"No, only my backpack. But what about your arm—"

"Your backpack." I quickly grabbed her and spun her around. This wasn't the time for kid-gloves. "Geez, better take it off. You've got zombie snot or something all over it."

She dropped it like an outta style handbag.

"Wow, that stuff is strong." Part of the material had already dissolved and it seemed to be spreading.

Misty froze and looked me up and down, "Nate, you've been bit by a zombie. You are going to turn into one now."

"No, no, I'm fine. It didn't really bite me. I mean, I think I knocked its dentures out. It kinda gummed me."

"Nate, that stuff's toxic. You've been infected with zombie snot; it's only a matter of time now." She stared at me, deadly serious, and started stepping backward.

Chapter 5 – Zombie Juice, Now with the Killing Power of Lemonade

"No, it doesn't work that way. I've seen tons of zombie movies. You don't get zombified unless it breaks the skin," I said, thinking about how my leg still ached.

"Movies, Nate, movies. These are real zombies. In the movies zombie snot doesn't burn you, does it?"

"Listen, I'm fine. Let's just find a hose and wash that stuff off the axe."

"Maybe I better hold the axe—just in case." Misty eyed me like any moment I might lean over and take a bite.

"I'm not going to turn into a flipping zombie." I'd had it with her, I really had. It's not nice to tell someone they're going to turn into a zombie, not nice at all. "If you want the axe, take it. You can lug it around."

With axe in hand, Misty seemed satisfied. She cleaned it, looked back to make sure we weren't being followed and said, "Let's get going."

"Misty, did you notice the zombie's eyes? All pale and fogged over—like Mayor Frank? I think he might have been a zombie or maybe starting to turn into one."

"Oh, good. That's a relief."

"Good? What the heck do you mean, good?" I said, still irritated with her.

"At least he wasn't trying to kiss me."

"He was trying to bite your head off. Isn't that worse?"

Misty just shrugged.

*

No one was ever here when I got home. Still, the house felt strange. As if it hadn't been lived in for years. It was the biggest house for blocks. Fake log siding and precisely placed boulders. Even I could tell it looked too perfect to fit in with the rest of the neighborhood.

"Umm, Nate, did you see this?" Misty sat on the arm of one of the crushed velvet chairs in the living room. Shoe prints on the white carpet traced her path.

"Hey, get out of there. You know better than that."

"Your mom must be so worried." She walked over and handed me my dad's laptop. It was left open to the Indian Springs Tribune webpage.

Misty was probably as close to my mom as I was. When we were about six, Misty's mom died. After that, my mom kinda took over as a surrogate. Our families always hung out, anyway, barbecues, camping, stuff like that. So, Mom and Misty always spent (too much, if you ask me) time together.

Right on the top of the page, in bold with large black type: Two Local Teens Missing, Presumed Lost in Woods.

"It says they were organizing search parties to look for us along the trails behind my house," Misty said.

The article went on to talk about how upset our parents were. It even quoted my dad: "I'm praying for the safe return of my son. I can't eat. I can't sleep. I cried all night." Crying? My dad? He barely even laughs.

For a second, I thought I might cry. "How could we have done this to our parents? What were we thinking?"

"What if we never see them again? I've thought the same thing," Misty said.

I held in the tears, but was blinking like I was making googly eyes at her. Misty's eyes didn't look dry, either. She ripped the laptop out of my hands. "Come on. Let's get going. Grab some clothes. I'll get the gun."

I dumped most of the camping stuff out of my backpack and almost stopped to look in the bathroom mirror. I was sure my hair looked rattier than ever, but with no one around, I didn't care.

I grabbed a pair of shoes and finally took a look at my leg. My sock had protected me from the worst of it. It was red with deep teeth marks and a bit of the skin was even broken. I didn't want to think about what it might mean, so I quickly loaded some t-shirts, jeans, lots of socks, and...Oh no, underwear. "Why can't Mom stay home and do laundry like a normal mother?"

"Do you ever actually listen to the stuff that comes out of your mouth?" Misty walked into my room. "Got some bad news. No gun. Your dad musta took it when they left."

I wasn't paying much attention. Sure, the gun was important, but not as important as clean underwear. If you doubt my priorities, try wearing the same pair for more than a couple days.

I frantically dug through my closet where I had a pile of old clothes I'd worn-out or outgrown.

"What are you doing? You feeling okay? Is it the zombie snot?"

"All my underwear are in the hamper, dirty. I can't find a single clean pair."

"There'll be hundreds of pairs at Walmart. You can change 'em every hour if you want. Just don't ask me to do your laundry." She picked up a dirty shirt off the floor and threw it at me. "Get a bandage for that arm and let's go."

*

The leather seat cradled my body like a custom-fitted chair. "I can't believe I'm doing this. You know how much Dad loves this car." I had serious second thoughts about driving it around zombie-infested streets.

"It's either this or we walk," Misty said.

On the other hand, walking around zombie-infested streets sounded even worse.

 The engine kicked right over and started purring. There's just something about the deep bass of a big block engine, especially when you're behind the wheel.

I'd never driven stick, or automatic for that matter. But I knew how, at least I thought I did.

First, put it in reverse. Except, rather than sliding into reverse, the gears ground together, the sound worse than fingernails on a chalkboard.

"Oops, forgot the clutch."

"You sure you know how to drive this? We might be safer taking our chances with the zombies."

"Ha ha, just give me a second."

Misty put on her seatbelt. "Nate, safety first." I wasn't sure if she was making fun of me or just being cautious—probably both.

Slowly, the car backed out of the driveway. I watched the garage door close and wondered if I'd ever set foot in my house again.

I made it into first gear, but stalled going into second. "Not a word, Misty, not one word."

She crinkled her nose and smiled. "Okay. But make a stop at Camping World. We should pick up a generator and some supplies. In case the power goes out."

"Good idea, but we'll have to be fast. We've still gotta stop at the mall to stock up on food."

"There's tons of food at Walmart."

"Yeah, but it's all canned and processed stuff. There's real, fresh food at the mall. We'll raid the food court."

"Nathan, you can't fool me. I know you just want to load up on cinnamon rolls. You're such a huge cinnamon roll pig."

"Fine. Forget the mall," I said, a little worried about the possibility of cinnamon roll withdrawals.

We rounded the corner. Alone in the middle of the street stood another zombie. This one wore an old style tuxedo, bow tie, even tails. It looked like a big chunk of its scalp was coming off; either that, or it was a seriously bad toupee.

"Five points for hitting the zombie, ten if it doesn't get back up." Misty sounded almost cheerful.

"No way. I am not hitting a zombie with this car."

"What? That's what you do, Nathan. Plow through zombies. How else are we going to kill them?"

"I'm not hitting it, end of conversation."

"But—"

"No!"

"At least pass it on the left. I don't want to look at it." Misty folded her arms across her chest.

As I passed it, the thought occurred to me that it might dive at the car, like the grandma zombie. I hit the gas and dropped it back down a gear, only I forgot the clutch again.

The car lurched, the zombie lurched, and the next thing I knew a rabid zombie was knocking at my window—knocking with its head, that is.

"Nathan, get the car started, now!" Misty started crawling up the back of her seat.

"I'm trying, I'm trying." Thick green goo dripped out of its eye and smeared all over the window. It took me a few seconds to think. Clutch in, turn key, a little gas, first gear, clutch out, more gas.

"You so cannot drive stick," Misty said as we sputtered away, leaving the zombie behind.

"Oh no. No. No!"

"What, what's wrong?"

"Zombie snot—it's all over the window. That stuff will eat through the paint like your brothers at an all-you-can-eat buffet."

"Don't panic, we'll wash it off."

"If anything happens to this car, my dad is going to kill me."

"Nate, we're driving around an abandoned town overrun by zombies. I think you might get a few scratches on the paint."

"No, no, unacceptable. See if you can find a hose."

"There's one by the mall. Pull it up on the sidewalk." She pointed across the intersection.

Misty jumped out and ran for the hose. I followed out on her side. "Nate, there's no knob. It's one of those security things."

I dove back into the car and popped the trunk. Dad always carried a tool kit for just such emergencies. Well, not just such, but you know what I mean.

I grabbed a pair of vice grips and dashed to the spigot. Misty sprayed the window as I supervised.

 "The paint's okay." A wave of relief washed over me. "It's a sign. We're going to make it through this."

"Oh, brother." She shook her head. "We're already here. Might as well get your cinnamon rolls."

"We'll drive right through the middle," I said cheerfully.

I'm not sure who decided our mall qualified as a real mall; there must not be any actual standard for the word. Ours was really more of a large, beat-down shopping center. A couple dozen shops ringed an old three-screen theater.

Together, we dragged a cement trashcan aside and drove down the mall's center walkway.

Looking around, I realized we could easily get cornered here. Suddenly I wasn't so eager for my cinnamon roll fix.

We slowly drove down the main walkway. Sappy jazz music floated overhead. Stores wide open, welcoming us as if we'd been expected.

"Miss, take the left side; I'll go right. Get as much food as you can and keep an eye out for anything else we might use," I said, trying to sound as if I had everything under control.

"You sure you're feeling okay, Nate? No sudden craving for raw hamburger?"

"If I do, you'll be the first to know." I tried to smile. "Just get going."

It wasn't long before we'd loaded the trunk with cold cuts, cinnamon rolls, even gourmet cookie dough. One thing was sure: we weren't going to starve. By the time we reached the end of the mall, we'd made a pretty good haul.

"Hey, Miss, I'm going to check out the Sharper Image. You finish up the food court."

"Got it." She wasn't carrying food, but rather an armful of clothes and one of those big handbags, the kind you always see photos of stars carrying puppies around in.

"What the heck?" I said, pointing to the stack of loot in her arms.

"I have to replace my backpack and stuff."

I couldn't put together any sort of response to that, so I turned and left.

At the store, I got a bag and started stuffing it with one of everything in sight. When I got to the binoculars, I took my time. Lots of models were on display. As I picked up the most expensive-looking pair, I heard a scream.

I ran back as fast as I could.

"Nate, help!"

Misty stood behind the counter of the Krazy Karrot Smoothie Bar, a zombie close behind.

I didn't worry about the car. It was in my way, so I hopped up and slid over the hood. Just like a guy in those old car movies they play on free movie channels, except that I slid right over and onto my butt. I would have been embarrassed if I weren't so panicked.

By the time I got to the counter, Misty was cornered. The zombie almost on top of her. She desperately held up a stool—the only thing between her and its teeth.

I headed toward the counter when I realized I'd messed up. I'd left the axe in the Shelby. There wasn't time to go back and get it. The muscles in her arms visibly straining, I had to find something to hit this thing with or Misty was zombie chow.

I picked up a plastic chair and threw it at the zombie, hoping to draw its attention. It just bounced off its head.

The zombie, inches from Misty, pushed against the stool, jaws full of brown, rotting teeth snapping at her.

I grabbed the largest thing in reach, a five-gallon bucket of lemonade. Struggling, I got it over my shoulder. Somehow, I managed to swing it over my head and upside-down onto the zombie. Lemonade flew everywhere. I was about to tackle the thing when I heard an ear-piercing scream. It wasn't me. It wasn't Misty. It was the zombie.

This guy really didn't care for lemonade. It fell, first to its knees, then flat on the ground. Its legs jerked and kicked, like its head was in an electrical socket.

A second later, it stopped. Smoke rose out of the bucket, still stuck on its head. The monster lay motionless.

Rather than step around it, Misty climbed on top of the counter and walked over to me, not once taking her eyes off the corpse.

"What was in that lemonade?" I said.

"Nothing. It was just lemonade, even tasted some." I looked over at her. She was shaking slightly, splashes of lemonade on her face and shirt. I wanted to take her hand, but guys don't go around taking their best friend by the hand—even if they had just fought off a killer zombie together.

There were tails on its retro tux. "Misty, I'm really sorry. It's the same one. I should have hit it with the car. It's all my fault."

"Don't be sorry. This is the best break we've had. We've found their weakness. We know how to kill them." She looked down at the puddle of lemonade and zombie pus pooled on the floor.

"What—lemonade? You think lemonade kills zombies?"

"Probably not lemonade, but something in it. The sugar, maybe? I don't know, but look, it works."

I couldn't argue. Smoke still billowed out of the bucket. This zombie was toast. "Should I kick the bucket off its head?"

"No way, that's sick."

"This from the girl who stuck gummy worms all the way up her nose."

"Not gummy worms, it was just one, and it's only went halfway up each side." I could see her starting to blush. "I was just a kid then, anyway."

"Wasn't that on our last camping trip?"

"Remember how we got that dorky kid from the dry campsite to eat it?"

"You mean, how you told him you'd give him five bucks if he ate it? Only you didn't have five dollars and I had to pay up to keep him from telling our parents?"

"Your dad gives you a huge allowance for just taking the trash out." She looked around and seemed to suddenly remember we were standing over a zombie corpse. "Let's get more lemonade and get outta here."

"If you're right about the lemonade, we'll need some weapons. There's a CB's Toys down at the corner. Go grab some water guns. I'll find more lemonade."

Before running off, she grabbed a large cup of the stuff to take with her.

I found three full buckets of lemonade in the fridge and several cases of lemons in back.

Misty returned with the largest Super Soakers I'd ever seen. These things had tanks you wore on your back. I wondered what kind of terrible people my parents were for never buying me one of these.

"Says they shoot up to fifty feet," she said.

"Um, yeah, that should do the trick."

We used an entire five-gallon bucket filling up the two Super Soakers and a few smaller guns. I grabbed a few tools, like the lemon masher and funnel, so we could turn the rest of the lemons into zombie-killing juice.

I strapped the tank on and started pumping the gun. "Now we're ready. Bring on some zombies."

Chapter 6 - Class Dismissed

We made quick stops at Camping World and the gas station before heading to Walmart.

In a way, the whole thing was thrilling. Don't get me wrong, I was totally freaked out. But it was also exciting—in a scare-your-socks-off, give-you-hideous-nightmares, scar-you-for-life kinda way.

We'd put two generators and a bunch of gas cans in the trunk. To make room, I threw out (according to Misty) several thousand dollars' worth of clothes.

Behind Walmart, the sun disappeared over the mountains. We still had a couple hours before dark, but we needed to hurry. I pulled the Mustang up parallel with the doors. A few cars laid scattered around the parking lot, and fortunately no zombies.

"Quick, let's get everything unloaded," I said.

Misty jumped out of the Mustang and the glass doors greeted us by swinging open. "Better do a zombie check," she said.

"I'll do a quick search."

The place looked open for business—filled with silent, unseen customers. Register lights on, carts everywhere; some appeared to be mid check-out. One tipped over. Its contents spread across the linoleum floor. The place must have been evacuated in a hurry.

I ran as quickly as I could down one side of the store, expecting a zombie at every turn. As I glanced down each aisle, my chest got tighter, the fear building. On the way back, I ran faster and faster, too afraid to look back until I got to Misty.

"No signs of any living dead," I said, leaning down with my hands on my knees, trying to regain my breath.

"Nate, help me get the generators and stuff out." We unloaded the car as quickly as we could.

"We'll need to figure out how to lock the front door. It has one of those security gate-fence things, but I doubt we can find the key," Misty said, spitting a few strands of hair out of her mouth.

"I'll pick up a lock and some chain. We'll find the keys later." I wiped the sweat from my face. "Here, lock the car. I'll grab a shopping cart."

I swear they design shopping carts to have least one messed-up wheel; it took a minute to find a decent one.

"Nathan, come here!" Misty yelled from outside.

I heard something in her voice. By now, I knew what it meant.

"There! I think it's another zombie."

Off in the distance, we could see someone, or something, approaching at the edge of the parking lot.

"I can't tell, hold on. I've got a pair of binoculars." I leaned inside, where we'd piled our supplies.

"Well?" asked Misty.

I adjusted the focus. "It's a zombie."

"Are you sure? He doesn't look dead—maybe just a little pale."

"Look for yourself, you'll see." I handed them to her and spit in disgust.

"I can't see his eyes. He might be alive."

"You don't recognize him?"

"No, do you?"

"It's Mr. Lopez. Teaches—well, taught Math," I said, rubbing my forehead.

"Oh my gosh, you're right. How could I have forgotten?"

Mr. Lopez had died of a heart attack last week while trying to teach Geometry in summer school—probably enough to kill anyone. It had been in the paper and on the local news.

"You had his class last year, didn't you?"

"Yeah, Pre-Algebra, hated it. It's just wrong to teach kids algebra. Still, to see him standing there..."

"I know what you mean. What are we going to do?" Misty's white knuckles clutched her Super Soaker.

"I don't think we have a choice. Even if we get the door locked, he might break the glass or attract more zombies. That's the last thing we need."

"Okay, we'll flip to see who does it."

I didn't like the idea of killing my math teacher, even if he was a soulless zombie. I mean, the guy had passed me. Still, if Mom found out I made Misty kill Mr. Lopez, I'd never hear the end of it.

"No, I'll do it. But it's taking him forever to cross the lot. I'm going to run and get the locks. Be back before he's in range."

Misty grabbed my arm. "No way. You are not leaving me out here with a zombie. I don't care how slow it is."

"Fine, I'll wait." We stood by the door with the car in front of us. Each passing minute, my stomach got sicker and sicker. It was a good thing we hadn't eaten much.

"Think he's close enough?" I asked, looking at his familiar polyester suit and Mickey Mouse tie.

"The box said fifty feet. I think he's farther than that."

The shadows grew thick and a chill rose in the air. I wasn't waiting any longer.

"Here goes nothing." I really pumped up the gun, then shot directly at him. The stream went pretty far and only dropped a little, hitting the zombie Mr. Lopez right in the midsection.

Only nothing happened.

I kept shooting. I'd soaked his entire torso before the pressure failed. The zombie mathematician didn't flinch—not even a fraction—he just kept right on coming.

"This is a problem." I turned to run and find the axe when Misty stopped me.

"Wait, I have an idea. Try the face."

"Which one, my evil face or my mean face?"

"Nathan, just shoot it in the face."

I didn't have a lot of juice left, but pumped my gun a bunch, then sprayed the Super Soaker high in the air so it arced and came down right on his face. Within seconds, the undead Mr. Lopez dropped to the floor. He let out a terrible scream that echoed in my skull.

A second later, it was over. Mr. Lopez lay sprawled across the parking lot, face down—smoking like a smoldering fire.

"That sucks," I said. "I feel like I just killed a man. Not a zombie, but someone I actually knew."

"Nathan, that's nonsense. He wasn't Mr. Lopez anymore." Misty put her hand ever so lightly on my shoulder.

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Still, only a few days ago he was walking around school torturing kids with math quizzes.

"We know how to kill them now," Misty said, looking away.

"I guess Mr. Lopez had one last lesson to teach."

"Nate, let's go. We need to get this place locked up before it gets dark."

We figured out how to lock all the double doors with a chain, but we couldn't get a chain around the garden center door. Instead, we used a pallet jack to move a huge pallet of bagged manure in front of it. It so reminded me of how our day had gone.

"We'll have to figure something permanent tomorrow," Misty said.

When we got to the auto center, I realized we totally should have parked the Pony in there. It'd have to wait until tomorrow. It was empty—no cars. Just some tires, tools, and lots of grease on the floor. We pulled the two huge garage doors down, one on each side.

"The place seems locked up pretty tight."

"Okay, where do we set up camp?" Misty asked. "Maybe the furniture section? We could set it up like a living room."

"No, the vision center."

"Vision center?"

"It's got everything we need. Only one entrance, which is secured with another one of those sliding security doors, has its own bathroom. It's even carpeted."

"Okay. We'll drag our supplies over and get the meat and stuff into fridges."

"Wait a second. I have an idea." The pallet jack had me thinking.

"Don't go out of earshot, Nate," Misty yelled as I ran into the back warehouse. A moment later, I returned in triumph.

So excited with my find, I couldn't stop smiling as I pulled up in a forklift.

Misty must have seen my smugness and decided to bring me down a notch. "Are you sure you can drive that? After your performance with the Mustang, maybe I better steer."

"Very funny. Hop on or walk."

With the forklift, we easily moved everything into the vision center. I rolled a drink cooler over and replaced most of the soda with our food.

In the vision center, glasses covered every last bit of wall space. Like hundreds of pairs of eyes watching us from every direction. I quickly took down as many as I could, letting them fall to the floor.

We set air mattresses up in the back corners and even started sorting supplies into storage bins.

"Let's get a TV and some DVDs. We've got to spend the evening doing something," Misty said.

I was too amped up to sleep and watching movies seemed better than sitting around wondering how many hungry zombies wandered around outside.

"Okay, then let's lock up. Tomorrow we'll really check this place out. Make sure there's nothing lurking about."

"I'm glad we've got this gate. It should do for tonight." Misty was playing with the vision center's security gate when disaster struck.

Chapter 7 – Walmart Security Gets Tough

The lights flickered a couple of times, then went out. We both knew what happened.

"Oh cripes, Nate. The power's out."

It was dark—really dark. The sun must have set while we'd gotten everything moved. I looked around, but it was hard to see anything. I couldn't shake this feeling something was behind me. I reached back, feeling around in the darkness, making sure nothing was there.

A faint light floated a few feet in front of me. I froze, thinking it might be a ghost or something—as if things could get any worse.

"Least my cell phone's good for something." Misty went over to the totes that held our supplies. A few moments later, a bright light shined in my eyes.

"Put that down. You're blinding me."

"Oh, sorry. It's one of those high-power LED flashlights. Here's yours."

"Good thing we thought of the generator." I checked behind me with my flashlight, making sure there weren't any moving shadows.

"We thought of the generator?" she said, raising an eyebrow.

"Let's go pick out a TV, then get a generator running so the food doesn't spoil." The TVs were just a few aisles over. "We'll take the lift," I suggested.

Once our eyes adjusted, we saw a couple emergency lights on in the back of the store, but they didn't do much except cast creepy shadows along the back wall. Walmart was an entirely different place in the dark. The retail version of some spooky carnival funhouse.

We weren't picky about the TV. We just took a really big one that was part of a middle aisle display. I pushed the whole display onto the forks. Then hopped back on the forklift—only someone was in my seat.

Startled, I jumped up and hit my head on the forklift's overhead bar. "Ouch."

"Not in my lap, Nate."

"What, are you going to drive?" I said, rubbing my head.

"I think I oughta learn how to drive this thing."

"Okay, fine. Push this lever forward and press the gas," I said, still irritated.

"The gas is the left one, right?"

"Maybe this isn't a good idea. Maybe I should—"

"What was that? Nate, did you hear that?" Misty's head darted around.

"I didn't hear anything."

She punched the gas and we took off.

"You didn't hear that? It sounded like a thud."

"Nope. Didn't hear a thing." At the time, I thought she was just distracting me so she could drive. I should have taken her seriously.

Back in the vision center, I opened the generator box. This huge instruction manual sat right on top. I thought I'd just need to add gas and go, but it took over an hour to get it set up. While I worked on it, Misty lit a couple propane lanterns and cleared some counter space.

"Okay, I think this thing is ready."

"Did you get the oil? You can't start it without oil."

"Yeah, oil was included. I checked everything." With one pull, it started right up.

"Um, is that how loud it is? That's not going to cut it," she said, raising her voice above the hum of the engine.

"It'll get louder than that once we plug everything in."

"Let's put it outside the door," she suggested.

"It really should be put outside the building, because of the exhaust."

"We shoulda set it up sooner."

"Don't worry. I can put it in the men's bathroom. It should have an exhaust fan. I'll just connect power to it."

"Can you do that? It doesn't sound safe."

"Don't worry, it's easy. I helped my dad install lights in the garage. I'll connect the power through the light switch."

"If you're sure."

"I'll take care of it. You stay here."

"Nate, I'm coming." Misty pushed her long, brown hair back as she took a step toward me.

"No, it will be faster if I do it myself. Plus, I need you to plug everything in to make sure we don't overload the generator. Just lock the door behind me."

"Fine. Holler if you need me."

I loaded the generator, along with a large can of gas, onto the forklift. Took a deep breath and, flashlight in hand, drove into the shadows.

First stop, the hardware section to get some electrical cords. Then, I went back and passed one end of a cord through the gate to Misty.

The men's restroom was in the far corner of the store, right by menswear. I looked forward to picking up a new pair of underwear while there. Mine were getting pretty rank.

I drove down a wide middle aisle. The flashlight gave off just enough light to hint at monstrous creatures hiding in the dark, just out of the light's glow.

I scanned the area, then hopped off the lift. I topped off the generator's tank and started it up outside the bathroom door. I just had to slide it in and rig up the fan.

With a stripped extension cord and screwdriver in one hand, I pushed the door. Only it was locked.

Why was the door locked?

It felt hollow and had a light wooden frame, so I figured I could get in. A few well-placed kicks and the door swung open. As I lifted my flashlight, I heard a moan.

I knew I was in trouble.

Right in front of me stood a zombie, ashen-faced, mouth open, leaning in for a bite. I leapt backwards, avoiding its teeth, but tripped over the generator. I landed on the plastic gas tank, which popped out from under me. Gas flew everywhere: on the zombie, on the generator, on me, all over the clothes on the racks.

The zombie fell over the generator, too, and laid on the ground next to me—its eyes seemed to glow in the dark. I was so scared, I almost lost it. Shaking, I sprayed it in the face and rolled away.

It started smoking the same way the other zombies had, but then did something unexpected—it caught fire.

Instantly, the entire area went up in flames. I stepped back, and still standing, jumped up and down, kicking my gas-soaked pants and shoes off.

The flames sprouted up as if they had a life of their own.

 I shot them with the Super Soaker, but it didn't do any good.

The flames spread up the side of a rack of cheesy Hawaiian shirts. I knew I had to put the fire out fast.

I ran to the aisle with the fire extinguishers and stopped. I'd dropped my flashlight back by the generator. A couple aisles over, something moved in the shadows. I started to lift my Super Soaker when I got hit in the face.

"Oww, it burns," I cried, "Darn it. It burns." My eyes started watering like a busted drinking fountain.

"Nathan, is that you? Were you bit? Did I kill you?"

"No, no. I'm fine, it's just the lemonade; that stuff burns."

"What's going on? You're burning the place down." I could hear panic in her voice.

"Grab a fire extinguisher and follow me."

My eyes dribbled lemonade-flavored tears as I grabbed two of the largest fire extinguishers and ran back. It took four extinguishers, but we managed to put the fire out.

"Wow, the generator's still running," I said.

Charred clothes were everywhere. Smoke filled the place—it smelled like fresh-roasted zombie. And I'd thought my day couldn't get any worse.

"What the heck happened?" Misty held her nose and looked around at the blackened remains.

"Security zombie in the bathroom; it was a close call."

"I'll say. We're lucky the fire sprinklers didn't come on."

"If this is lucky, I'd hate to see cursed."

"Umm, Nate?"

"Yeah?" I exhaled in relief. It would have been embarrassing if I'd burnt the place down.

"Where's your pants?"

Chapter 8 – Really Weird Science

That night we didn't watch a movie. We forgot to grab any DVDs, and the disc inside the player was one of those sappy Disney movies with the talking retriever pups.

I thought about venturing out to get a real movie. But it just felt much safer in the vision center, behind that locked gate.

The excitement of the day wore off and I crashed on my air mattress, not even bothering to turn out our lights. I couldn't stop wondering how long it would take to turn into a zombie. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw pale, bloody zombies glaring at me with their frosted eyes. That, along with the foul smell from the fire made for one long night.

When I woke up in the morning, the first thing I did was check my eyes in one of the vision center mirrors. They seemed normal. I looked at my leg and it was fine too. Just a couple faint teeth-shaped marks. Maybe my pants had provided just enough protection, or maybe it was because the mayor wasn't fully turned, but if nothing had happened by now, I hoped I'd be fine.

Somehow, in the morning Misty managed to sleep in. I'd already finished breakfast by the time she woke up, looking like a model for one of those Proactiv commercials—the after treatment—not before.

"Nate, you look terrible."

"I think the smoke's getting to me," I said as I picked the crusties out of my eyes.

"Let's figure some way to air this place out."

"Yeah, plus we've gotta get rid of the security guard."

"Security guard?" she asked.

 "The one who set the place on fire last night."

"Oh right, it was a security zombie. Hey, how'd it get into the bathroom, anyway? I mean, zombies don't use the toilet, right?"

"Didn't think of that. Maybe someone locked it in."

"We better really search this place."

While I refilled my Super Soaker, Misty went to the back to wash up.

I glanced at my blistered arm and wondered what were that odds that we'd both make it through this. I decided if one of us had to get zombified it better be me; I couldn't stand watching Misty turn into one of those things.

Misty finished washing about the same time the generator went out.

Light came in through the front windows, so it wasn't too dark, but I lit a lantern anyway.

"Generator empty already? At this rate, we'll be out of gas in a few days," Misty said.

"That's not all we're running low on. I used almost half of the lemonade refilling our guns.  We might have to try the fake lemonade stuff they sell here."

"I've been thinking about that and I have an idea."

"Let me guess, it involves me squeezing lemons?"

"No, it involves chemistry."

"Even worse. I'll be zero help."

"Do you remember acids and bases from science class?"

"No. Of course not, do you?" I looked at her like she had something slimy dangling from her nose.

"Unlike you, I pay attention in class and it's a good thing." Misty grabbed a mini powdered donut from the box sitting on the display case. How could she be so calm? My nerves were shot.

"Just get on with it. How's this going to help? Do you know how to kill the zombies?"

"Maybe, I mean, it has to be something in the lemonade, right?"

"Yeah, but there's not much in lemonade besides water and sugar. Think it's the sugar?"

"No, you've got it all wrong. If I'm right, it's the pH. Lemons have a really low pH. If you soak a penny in lemon juice overnight it will shine right up. It's like an acid."

"Cleaning a penny is a far stretch from killing a zombie."

"Not killing, neutralizing. I remember Mr. Brunner, my science teacher, mixed a base with an acid, just citric acid, I think." Little sprinkles of powdered donut speckled her lips as she spoke. "Anyway, the whole thing flashed—flames, smoke—the same as our zombies."

"You mean our zombies are killed by citrus?" I wasn't sure if I was buying it.

"What I am saying is maybe, just maybe, our zombies have a high pH and we can use acid, any acid to neutralize them. They die when we bring down their pH."

"Then why didn't the lemonade burn through Mr. Lopez when I shot him in the chest?" I tried not to squirm as I thought about it.

"Don't know. Maybe his skin protected him. Maybe that's why we have to shoot them in the face. Maybe it was burning through his skin, but slowly. Like the zombie snot did to your arm." She glanced down at my arm.

"Well, I guess it makes sense, but how do you propose to test this theory?"

I unlocked the security gate. We leaned our heads out and looked around, half-expecting an undead Walmart greeter to come around the corner, demanding more than just leaving our backpacks by the door.

"I haven't figured that out yet. After we search the store and clean up your zombie mess, we'll get some pH strips from the pool supplies and make some test solutions. Then we'll have to find a volunteer."

"Not me. That lemonade really burned my eyes."

"Let's get going. We've got another fun-filled day ahead of us," she said and forced a smile.

I wanted to take the forklift, but Misty thought we should try to save fuel. So we decked out our shopping cart with all the stuff we might need: a lantern, extra Super Soakers, and, of course, the axe. Misty even went to the pharmacy to pick up some band-aids and stuff.

We really searched the store good. I'm talking closets, under desks, inside cabinets. Any place large enough to fit a human body. We got lucky, not only were there no zombies, but in the manager's office we found the key ring with all the keys to the store.

"Let's refill the generator and get rid of the security zombie," I said. It wasn't a task I was looking forward to.

"Man, this place is a wreck." Misty held a trash bag as she stepped around the charred remains of men's undergarments.

That's when it hit me. "Oh no, not the underwear. We couldn't have burned them all."

Misty stifled a laugh. "Don't worry, I'm sure we'll find some."

We looked and looked and looked. No boxers, no briefs, even those stupid South Park silk boxer shorts were all charred beyond use.

"Come on, let's get this zombie out of here before it really starts smelling," she said when she'd given up looking.

I'm pretty strong for my size, but this thing was heavy. "Friends help you move. Real friends help you move bodies. Now I know why."

"Nate, you're such a dork."

We managed to get the zombie loaded onto the forklift and took it to the front entrance. When we got there, we found another problem—more undead.

The morning fog hadn't burned off; it washed the area with a pale haze that did little to mask the desperate scene. There must have been close to a dozen zombies scattered within sight of the front door.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say they're breeding," Misty said.

Zombies wandered around the parking lot, like aimless beggars looking for a handout. Wearing sick expressions and thrashed, soiled clothes. Some looked almost alive, others were pretty messed up—they all looked hungry.

"There's certainly more of them. I hate to think how many we'll have tomorrow, or the next day."

"At least this will make it easy to test my theory. Maybe we can figure out a way up to the roof."

"I saw a ladder in the warehouse that led up there. Bet we have the key," I said.

"Let's get the car into the garage right away. In case the streets fill up with even more of these things."

The security zombie had started to ooze snot. So we'd wrapped it in trash bags before dragging it out front. Just out of sight, behind a Sam's Choice soda machine. The zombies immediately took notice and started coming over to introduce themselves. I hopped in the Shelby before any got too close. Misty ran inside and headed to open the garage door.

I drove around the parking lot, carefully avoiding the undead.

About halfway to the garage, a zombie stepped out, right in front of the car. I slammed on the brakes and started to put it in reverse, then realized who it was.

Mayor Frank stood there motionless, my boot in his hand. I didn't think, I just opened the door and got out of the car.

"My shoe!" I yelled. Oblivious to the fact he couldn't understand me.

Like yesterday, I punched him with everything I had. Only this time, he didn't go down. He barely flinched. And my hand throbbed twice as bad.

I pointed my gun and pulled the trigger, but only a few drops dripped to the ground—it was clogged. The zombie politician (no, that's not redundant) grabbed my Super Soaker and ripped it out of my hand. I looked into his eyes; they were completely fogged over—nothing human left.

I tried getting away, but the tubing connected to the soaker's backpack held me like a leash. Before I could get it off, he grabbed my shoulder with his other hand, and threw the gun across the parking lot. The line to the backpack snapped. If I hadn't known better, I'd have thought this was personal.

Both his chubby arms wrapped around me. I wedged my palm under one of his chins and tried my hardest to push his fat face away. The broken Super Soaker tube swung wildly, spurting lemonade harmlessly at our legs.

Slowly he forced me closer, his strength overpowering mine. My chest pressed up against his body. With my right hand, I managed to keep his teeth at bay. His grip so tight I couldn't breathe.

I reached down with my free hand. I grabbed desperately for the Super Soaker's hose, but it whipped about out of reach. Everything started getting fuzzy—soon I'd pass out.

Somehow, as the flailing tube flew past my hand, I managed to grab it just before it slipped through my fingers.

My right hand gave way and he turned to bite me.

I thrust the end of the tube, lemonade still shooting out of it, into his mouth, except I missed.

It slipped, sliding deep into his right nostril. He made a sharp grunt and loosened his grip. I squirmed and gasped for air, but couldn't break free.

I looked on, horrified as lemonade started spraying out the other side of his nose.

Finally, I broke free and stepped back. The rubber hose popped out and smoke billowed from both nostrils.

He put his hands to the sides of his head and screamed as smoke and snot surged out of every opening.

A second later, he fell to the ground.

I was too startled to move until I heard footsteps behind me—more of the mayor's constituents.

Quickly, I grabbed my boot, dashed back to the car, and locked the door. Covered in zombie snot, I ripped off my t-shirt. Glanced in the rear view mirror, then rolled down the window just enough to throw the shirt out before driving off.

Misty rolled the door open as I pulled up. She must have heard the engine.

"What took you so long?" she yelled.

I parked the car and sat. Adrenaline rushed through me; every part of my body shook. I had a nearly uncontrollable urge to smash something.

I heard the garage door shut with a whoosh. Misty stood there, but didn't approach.

I sat a moment longer until I calmed down some. As soon as I got out, Misty ran over and grabbed me.

"Nate! Are you okay? Were you bit?" Her face already soaked with tears.

"I'm fine—just a close call."

She embraced me. Her grip seemed almost as tight as the mayor's. I hugged her back and couldn't stop myself from crying—just a tiny bit—too.

We stepped away and looked into each other's red eyes.

"Nathan?" She looked me over with concern.

"Yeah?"

"Care to explain how you got your boot back?"

Chapter 9 – When Life Gives You Lemons, Kill Zombies

Misty wrinkled her forehead, looked down at the boot, then back at me and frowned. Seeing the condition I was in, she somehow managed to keep from interrogating me.

"I'm going to wash up," she said as she marched away, shaking her head.

My jeans were a mess. Covered in dirt, blood, even a little zombie snot. I tried finding a pair of Walmart-brand jeans that fit and promised myself not to do anything that stupid again. This wasn't a game; my little footwear fiasco had almost cost my life and possibly Misty's, too.

Neither of us said much as we wolfed down a nutritious lunch of beef jerky and cookie dough. When we were ready to start testing out the zombie juice, my heart still hadn't stopped pounding.

We went up and down every aisle. Getting pH test strips, cola, drink mixes, anything we thought might work. I also grabbed some water balloons and a small pump.

We loaded all our stuff into plastic bins and used a rope to pull it up the ladder to the roof. Coated with thick, off-white rubber, checkered with large vents, it looked way bigger up here.

 "Let's try one solution per gun. So we don't get mixed up," she said as I untied a bin full of Super Soakers.

"Sounds good. What should we try first?"

"Straight lemon juice. If my theory is correct, it should work best." Misty pulled out a bag full of those fake plastic lemons filled with pure juice.

"These shouldn't clog up the gun: no pulp. Here's a funnel," I said.

With a knife, I cut off the tops of the fake lemons so we could easily fill the Super Soakers. I pumped up the gun as we walked to the edge of the roof. What I saw almost made me pee my pants.

It'd been no more than a couple of hours since we moved the Mustang, but now the town looked alive—every sidewalk, every corner, every street: zombies. There were dozens.

"Shouldn't have much trouble finding a target."

"How about that one?" Misty pointed to a zombie standing behind a bus bench. "It could almost be waiting for a ride."

"Okay, here it goes." I shot the zombie right in the side of the head, trying to get some on its face.

I killed it, all right, just not how I expected. Its head burst into flames and then went out just as quickly, leaving behind a smoking corpse.

"Behold, the awesome power of the zombie juice Super Soaker!" I waved the gun above my head in triumph.

"Wow," Misty said, looking around as if she were trying not to feel embarrassed for me. "I think we better tone it down next time. The juice, I mean."

"The trick will be finding the right mix," I said, quickly putting the gun down.

Like mad scientists, we experimented with citrus, soda, juices and drink mixes. Watered-downed citrus worked best: two parts water to one part juice. Double strength Kool-aid took down zombies pretty good, too. Plus, it had the added advantage of giving you an excuse to yell, "Oh yeah!"

Using the pump and a bucket of lemon juice, I made some water balloon juice bombs; they worked, as long as you hit the zombie around the face.

We made a massive mess outside of Walmart. The place looked like an abandoned battlefield. It was a great way to blow off steam, but we needed to finish our preparations inside.

"I'm sorta worried about the front door," I said.

"We've got it locked, plus the security gate's in place."

"Yeah, I'm sure that can stop ten or twenty of them. What about a hundred or a thousand?"

Misty looked over the parking lot as if she were waiting for an army of the undead to come marching out. "You think there could really be that many?"

"Hope not, but we've gotta be prepared. We should have got some wood to put over the windows."

"It's too late now."

We headed down to the vision center and started taking down the rest of the glasses and clearing out the displays.

"How about these?" Misty put on a pair of the ugliest old-lady specs I've ever seen.

I just ignored her. "Did you see all those pallets in back? Some of them are really heavy: dog food, microwaves, TVs. We could stack them up in front of the glass doors. That would provide some extra protection."

Misty nodded as she tried to cross her eyes. She looked pretty ridiculous, but I wasn't in much of a laughing mood.

*

It took us the rest of the morning to move the pallets. We put them in front of all the doors, even the rolling doors in the warehouse and auto center.

I spent the next few hours looking for a decent pair of underwear, but no luck.

The pair I had on were too far gone to be cleaned. It was time for them to go—for good. So, I put on a pair of swim trunks with built-in skivvies, instead. It wasn't ideal, but better than the alternative.

When I got back to the vision center, Misty had it all decked out like a college dorm or a bachelor pad. Tons of snacks, cheesy lamps, moon chairs, plus a ginormous LED TV. If it weren't for the homicidal zombies outside, it would have made a nice pad.

I'm not sure why, but for some reason it kinda ticked me off; as if we had no business being comfortable when zombies were roaming around right outside. Heck, we didn't even have a clue about our parents.

"Nate, how long do you think we can hold out here?" Misty was browsing Walmart's selection of music players and cell phones.

"I don't know, weeks, months, maybe longer. Why? Don't you think someone's going to come get us? I mean, a rescue party or something like that?"

"I hope so, but what if this is happening everywhere?" She put down a phone and looked right at me. "What if society has collapsed? You know, anarchy in the streets? What if our parents are already dead?"

"Geez, Miss. Don't talk like that. I thought you were the one holding it together."

"I'm just saying, we're shut up in here like a jail. Who knows what could be happening?"

"You need some fresh air. Come on, let's grab some spray paint. We're going to the roof."

"But I haven't picked out a player yet."

"We don't even have music to put on it." I gently grabbed her arm and dragged her away.

We needed to keep an eye on the zombie count, but I'd been putting it off, worried we might find the streets packed with the undead. Still, anything was better than moping around Walmart, imagining the world descending into terror while we shopped for discount electronics.

"This isn't so bad. Not as many as I expected," I said, trying to put a good spin on it.

"Still, they seem to be multiplying." Misty shrugged. "What's the spray-paint for, anyway? Going to tag Walmart?"

"It's for a distress signal. Spray a big, 'help, we're hosed' sign on the roof." I started shaking a can.

Misty stood and watched. I'd only finished half of the 'H' before the can fizzed out.

I tossed it to Misty. "Here. See if you can hit a zombie in the head."

She rolled her eyes and then turned to throw it. "Nate, what's that? Over there, someone's running. Come see."

Sure enough, way off in the distance, a kid. He looked a little younger than us. Running criss-cross through the streets, looking like a kick returner zagging upfield. Dozens of zombies followed, desperate to tackle him.

Chapter 10 – Uninvited Guests for Dinner

I grabbed the binoculars to get a better look.

The kid was all decked out with a backpack and some sort of protective face shield, almost like a welder might wear. He dragged a weed sprayer in one hand and an old rake in the other.

"That kid's in trouble. Just about every zombie in town is on his rear." He seemed to have a plan. Running with purpose, only shooting zombies in his path. He must have had some strong stuff—a trail of flaming zombies lay in his wake.

"Is he coming this way?"

"No. I think he's headed east, the bridge maybe?" Dropping the binoculars, I headed down the ladder. "Come on. He'll get cornered at the bridge."

I felt like a firefighter responding to a call, facing danger to save someone else.

"Misty, open the garage door. I'll spray any zombies too close, then close it behind me."

"No way, Nate. I'm coming too."

"Thought you didn't like my driving? Besides, someone has to stay behind to close the door."

"We'll open it just enough to get the car out. If any zombies get in we'll clear them out easily enough when we get back."

I didn't like her plan, not one bit, but that kid didn't have time for us to argue.

"Fine. Then I'm opening the garage door."

"Whatever. You're such a chauvinist."

"Just get in the car." I moved two of the pallets barricading the garage door and opened it just enough to get the Mustang out. The undead didn't seem smart enough to bend down. I just hoped there weren't too many zombie midgets around.

I threw my Super Soaker in back and hopped in. So excited, I peeled out of the garage; the back-end slipped around as if it was on ice. The peel-out was an accident, but I have to admit it was kinda fun.

"Where'd he go?" Misty asked.

"Down one of the main streets, maybe First or Cypress."

I turned down First Street, lined with old brick and stone buildings, giant pines draped behind them. I was in second gear, diving as fast as I could while still avoiding the zombies.

"He's not here. Cut over to one of the side streets."

Pulling down an alley, I turned on Oak Avenue. Sure enough, there was a parade of thirty or more zombies ahead of us.

 "He's gotta be there. Quick, drive through them," Misty said.

"No way. I'll take it up the sidewalk."

"Look, there he is." She pointed to an olive-skinned boy bent over his sprayer, pumping, literally, for his life. "Hurry, Nate."

A tall, muscular zombie advanced on him. It didn't look like the kid could get his sprayer pumped in time.

"Hit it, Nate."

"No, no way—not in Dad's Mustang."

"Hit it, Nate!" She pounded both fists against the dash.

"No, no!" But I had no choice.

 Thud. Thud.

"Oh no, oh no," I said as the zombie bounced off the hood and over the roof. I slammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop right in front of the kid.

Misty swung the door open, swept the mob with her gun—zombies dropped quicker than my grades. She leaned her seat forward. "Jump in."

She didn't have to say it twice. The kid dove in and we sped off.

"My dad's going to kill me." I squeezed the steering wheel so hard my knuckles cracked. Sweat ran down my face, I imagined the whole front-end totaled.

"Hi, I'm Misty. What's your name?" She put out her hand and tossed her hair like she was the official welcoming committee.

This kid was really huffing and took a second to regain his breath. "My name is Kali. What is vexing your friend, Misty? He seems to be in an inordinate amount of distress."

"Oh, don't mind him. He's just obsessed with this car because his dad loves it more than him."

"I see. A most unfortunate situation."

"Don't listen to her. I'm Nate." I waved in the rear view mirror. He'd taken his mask off. His sharp nose and warm brown eyes complimented his burnt-toast skin.

"Your rescue was most timely. I am exceedingly appreciative of your efforts."

"You always talk like that?" I asked. He looked as if he was about to reply. "Don't answer that."

We easily lost the mob and got back to Walmart, only spotting the occasional zombie as we drove.

"Looks clear," I said as we rolled into the garage.

"I see you have constructed a base in this retail establishment. Intriguing."

I didn't have time for chit-chat; I jumped out to examine the car.

"We're so lucky, just a broken headlight and turn signal. I don't see any dents, scratches or anything." It would be easy to fix. Dad would never know.

"Did you hear that?" asked Misty.

Focused on the car, I had no idea what she was talking about.

"Yes, I believe the sound originated in the proximity of those tool chests," Kali replied.

I glanced over at a pair of red chests located in the far corner right as a little kid popped out from behind. He wasn't older than a toddler, really. His thin blond hair stuck up on top. He waved his arms as if to say hi. He looked cute except for his frosted eyes and blood dripping down his lips.

"Oh dang. It's a baby," Misty said.

"Yeah, a baby zombie," I said. "Kill it."

The little kid walked towards us on unsteady feet, smiling like it wanted to be friends. Only it really wanted to eat our flesh. I'd taken off my Super Soaker to drive. I had nothing to shoot with.

"Someone, shoot that thing!" I screamed.

"Nate, I don't think I can shoot a baby."

"It's not a baby, it's a zombie—look at its eyes. Kali, you shoot it. Do it now!"

I started to dive in the car to retrieve my gun.

"Please wait. I believe I have an alternative solution." Kali opened his backpack and pulled out a thin rope. "If we can secure this around the midsection we can facilitate its removal without coming in contact with its epidermis."

"Great idea," said Misty.

"Oh, this is ridiculous." Part of me felt like punching Kali in the throat, but I went along with his plan anyway.

Getting the rope around its waist was easy. We held the ends and ran a circle around him. It seemed to think this was a game, and started giggling. Even as it snapped its teeth at us, I started to feel bad for wanting to kill the little undead tyke.

We pulled the mini-zombie toward the door and opened it just enough to get it out, then used Kali's rake to push the kid out.

Apparently, it wanted to stay and play, 'cause we could hear it crying and pounding its little fists on the door.

"Let's put those pallets back and get out of here. I don't know how much of that I can take."

"No doubt," Misty said.

"Interesting. Perhaps this is an early childhood necro-sapien trait. An attempt to gain sympathy from humans in order to procure an opportunity to consume their flesh." I glanced over at Misty—she looked at Kali like he was a zombie. I shook my head, glad I wasn't the only one who thought this kid was a little weird.

"I don't think anyone would be dumb enough to hug it," I said.

"Come on, Kali, we'll give you the tour," Misty said as we put the last pallet back.

Misty and I showed him around the place, pretty happy with how we had secured it.

"Your preparations seem satisfactory. Can you relate to me your efforts to procure assistance?"

"Umm, we actually hadn't got that far," Misty said.

"You haven't checked the Citizen's or General Radio bands?"

"Umm, no," I replied, as if I had any idea what he was talking about.

"And you haven't attempted to signal airplanes using the international distress signal?"

"Well, I got half an 'H'."

"Kali, how old are you?" Misty asked.

"Nine point eight years."

"Point eight, huh?" I looked at Misty and snickered.

"You're very bright for your age," she said.

"I am, in fact, bright even for someone your age."

I couldn't help thinking that maybe he was saying he was smarter than us, so I decided to change the subject. "Over here is where we've been sleeping." We headed back to the vision center. "I'll grab an air mattress for you."

"I take it you plan to effect your escape tomorrow then?"

"Escape? What escape? We're safe here, really safe," Misty said, bobbing her head up and down.

"I think you are incorrect. According to the emergency broadcasts, an air strike is imminent within seventy-two hours."

"That could be a slight problem."

Chapter 11 – The Going Gets Tough

"Emergency broadcast?" Misty asked.

"Am I to understand that you have not been listening to the emergency broadcast station?" Kali replied.

"We couldn't get anything on the TV."

"And you did not search the frequency mod—I mean the FM or AM bands?"

"Hold on, let's back up. What's this about an air strike?" I grabbed a giant bag of Skittles as we passed the candy aisle.

"Unless the necro-sapien threat resolves itself within two point four days, the area will be extirpated."

"Let's call'em zombies, no more of this necking-sapien stuff, okay? And there's no way in heck this is going to resolve itself."

"I concur. Thus is it expedient that we vacate without delay."

"No dice, Einstein. They've blown the bridges." I opened the security gate to the vision center for Misty and Kali.

"If the bridges have been demolished, then our situation is more dire than I originally deduced." Kali wasn't looking at us; instead, he rummaged through our supplies like a teacher digging through desks for contraband.

"I'd call that an understatement." I shoveled a huge handful of Skittles into my mouth.

"I will have to formulate a new plan. In the meantime, I think it would be prudent for me to use the electronic equipment here to attempt to contact the authorities. If I can reach the proper party, they may rescind their plan, or at the very least initiate a rescue."

"Fine. Electronics department, aisle three. Have fun with that," I mumbled with a full mouth.

Kali marched away without another word.

"What do you think?" Misty asked.

"Shhh, wait a second." I put my finger to my lips, which ended up coated with a rainbow of fruit-flavored spittle. "Vulcans have extra-sensitive hearing."

"What have I told you about Star Trek jokes?"

"He seems fine, but more than a little weird. I mean, I don't think he even knows what half those words mean." I tipped the bag to Misty, who took two.

"We can turn on a radio and listen to the emergency broadcast ourselves."

"Yeah, unless he's set up his own transmitter and is sending out fake alerts."

"Seriously, Nate? Why would he do something like that?"

"I don't know, evil genius? Heck, maybe he even created the zombies. Some sort of modern Frankenstein experiment."

Instantly, Misty's hands were in fists, pressed firmly against her hips. "Just shut up. That's the dumbest thing you've said. To blame all this on some little kid; don't you have any decency?"

"Whoa, calm down—just thinking out loud." I took a step back. "I know there's no way he could have caused all this. All I'm saying is he seems a little off. We should keep an eye on him."

Misty didn't reply. I figured we were both thinking about the best way to make our escape. With so many zombies around, we knew it wouldn't be easy.

We walked over to the electronics department and found Kali sitting alone on the floor surrounded by a mound of torn-up packaging and cheap electronics.

"Any luck?" His dark hair stuck up on the sides; it looked like his mom cut it.

"None. Either these devices lack sufficient power, or the authorities believe the area to be completely evacuated. Perhaps both." He held what looked like a CB radio with its cover removed. A long wire snaked up a support column.

"You must be the life of the party," I said as I walked over to the portable stereos.

"I seldom receive invitations to parties."

Who could have guessed, Kali not the most popular kid in school?

"Hey, what channel is the emergency broadcast on?" I stepped over a spilled rack of movies; this place was starting to look as if it'd been looted.

"AM sixteen-ten, but you will not receive radio reception in this structure without an antenna."

He was right. I couldn't get a single station.

"Perhaps our efforts would be better utilized if we focused our attention on the problem of extracting ourselves from the tri-city area."

"The tri-city area?" asked Misty.

"Yes, based on your actions while rescuing me, I assumed you knew?"

"Knew what?"

"About the source of the contaminate that has resulted in the re-animation of the deceased."

"We saw zombies running around and kinda assumed they wanted to eat our brains or something," I said.

"Actually it's flesh. The necro—um, zombies desire to consume flesh, not specifically brains. Although human cerebral matter is high in fatty—"

"Ooo, stop, that's way too much," Misty said.

"So, let's grill up some steaks and maybe they'll leave us alone," I suggested.

"Unfortunately, when an animal expires, glycogen immediately starts to convert into acid, which lowers the pH and renders the meat inconsumable to the re-animated."

"So we were right about the whole pH thing? See, Nate, I told you science class was important," Misty said smugly. Lifting her chin a little higher than is normally polite.

"How did you manage to deduce that lowering the cranial pH would retard the cerebral re-animation?"

"We sort of stumbled across it." I shook my bag of Skittles to see if any stragglers were hanging out in the bottom.
"How so?"

"Oh, it doesn't matter."

"Nate tried to drown a zombie in lemonade. It was great," Misty said, smiling.

"Not drown; I wanted to get the bucket on its head so I could save your butt, remember?" I could feel my face getting warm. Misty never missed an opportunity to embarrass me.

"Ahh, so it was idiot's luck, so to speak."

Idiot's luck? It was idiot's luck Misty stepped between us before I could knock him silly.

"So how did you figure it out?" she asked.

"I'm a volunteer for the Western States Regional Water Monitoring Program. We've been monitoring the water in this area for several years." Kali pulled out a wallet and sure enough, he had a Western States Regional Water Monitoring card. I wondered if he also had a chess club or Young Geniuses of America membership card in there, too.

"I noticed an alarming rise in both river and soil pH in recent months."

"What's a nine-year-old doing with a wallet?" I asked.

"How does a thing like this happen? Why didn't the government step in?" Misty gave me her best evil eye, which I thoroughly enjoyed.

"We were working closely with the EPA. However, it is difficult to positively determine the source of the contaminate that caused the pH levels to rise."

"This pH increase created the zombies?"

"No, not by itself. I suspect the actual cause is a mutant virus or aggressive pathogen. Whatever the method of re-animation, I believe we can assume it is not the pH levels alone that are responsible. This area has been environmentally ravaged for decades." Kali shook his head slightly, obviously in disgust.

"There are high levels of mercury from mining, formaldehyde from the plywood factory that closed eleven years ago, and now sodium hydroxide, which I suspect has been illegally dumped at the paper mill," he continued.

"All these together created the zombies?" I asked.

"Yes, I believe so. Or, more precisely, created an amalgam. Some sort of never before seen contaminate that has the ability to re-animate the cerebral cells of the dead." I found my head automatically shaking, too.

"That's great, so my dad helped create the zombies." Misty's dad worked as a supervisor at the paper mill.

"Misty, there's no way your dad was involved. He hasn't missed church since I've known you. He hasn't even let you miss church. The guy's practically a saint. If illegal dumping was going on, he's the last person who'd be in on it."

"While I cannot comment on your father's candidacy for sainthood, I can concur with Nathan's conclusion. The mill has done an excellent job of keeping this quiet. I have been regularly inspecting their refuse for any documentation of illegal dumping."

"You were digging through their trash?" Misty said, wrinkling her noise.

This kid was a little off. "Oh, never mind the trash. We all agree Misty's dad wasn't involved. The question is how do we get out before they blow the town to bits?"

I waited for a reply, but no one spoke. "If Kali's right and Greenburg and Quincy are infected, too, there's no way we can just walk out of here. We couldn't carry enough zombie juice."

"What if we killed all the zombies? Then the government wouldn't have any reason to bomb us in the first place," suggested Misty.

"They'd probably still bomb us for target practice," I added.

"No, wait. Misty, that is an excellent hypothesis. If all the zombies in the immediate area are neutralized, the government will be certain to send a team to investigate the cause." Kali bit his lower lip and looked up, deep in thought.

"We could stand on the roof and spray them with zombie juice," Misty said.

"I assume zombie juice is a highly acidic fluid you have been using to eliminate the zombies?"

I nodded, then added, "But, we could never kill 'em all from the roof."

"What if we drove the Mustang around and sprayed them?" asked Misty.

"Negative. Even with modifications to your vehicle, we would not be able to carry enough zombie juice, as you call it, to eliminate them within the required period."

"What if we got a big truck..." Now the wheels in my head started turning. "I got it. How about a fire truck? I remember we went to the fire station on a field trip. Those things hold thousands of gallons."

"But we'd never get enough zombie juice, even if we mixed in all the containers of Kool-aid, Crystal Light, and everything else we could find," she said.

"What we require is vast amounts of Sulfuric Acid."

"The paper mill has tons of chemicals."

"But they're the ones raising the pH," I reminded her.

"Misty, I think that may be the solution." Kali rubbed his chin, as if he expected to find a beard there. "The paper mill uses sodium hydroxide to raise the pH of the paper pulp, but I am positive they also have large quantities of sulfuric acid to lower it. The creation of paper requires a very precise chemical process." Kali waved his finger at us like a parent scolding a child. "If we could obtain a sufficient supply, it is possible we could mix enough solution to neutralize every zombie within the town borders."

"So it's a plan?" I asked, resisting the urge to put his finger down for him.

"There are a multitude of details we must work out. However, I think this proposal appears to be not only a plausible course of action, but at present, the most likely to succeed."

"We're going to break into the paper mill, steal a fire truck, and soak the entire town in acid? Sounds like a great plan to me." Misty rolled her eyes.

Chapter 12 – Kid to Work Day

The late afternoon sun melted below the trees. In our narrow valley, there're hours more light after sunset. But we still needed to get moving on our new plan. I think the idea of doing something—anything, besides hiding out—sounded good to all of us.

Kali grabbed four big weed sprayers from the garden section and Misty showed him how to mix the juice so the zombies wouldn't burst into flames.

We couldn't take the Mustang; Kali thought the acid stuff might be in fifty-five gallon drums. Fortunately, an old flatbed truck sat in the parking lot out by the auto center. I figured there was a good chance the keys might be hanging on the wall behind the service desk.

"There's three pairs of Ford keys—better grab 'em all," I said as we stood around nervously. "If none work, we'll have to get back quick."

"If needed, I believe I can bypass the lock cylinder and engage the vehicle's engine using the starter solenoid, at least in theory," Kali offered.

"You mean you can hotwire it?" asked Misty.

"Let's see how it goes," I said. If the keys didn't work, I wasn't about to stand around and see if our wiz-kid could hotwire it while we fought off every zombie in town.

"It would be prudent to bring this pallet lift to assist in maneuvering the barrels."

"I hope he's right and the paper factory actually has the acid," I whispered to Misty as we moved the pallets blocking the garage door. "We're taking a big risk on the word of a nine-year-old nerd with a girl's name."

"Have a little faith, Nate." Misty climbed on a pallet of dog food and looked out a small window built into the door. "Looks as clear as it's going to get."

Every time that door opened, my heart raced. We never knew how many zombies would be waiting.

There were a lot of them. They wandered aimlessly; bumping into each other like slow, bloody pool balls. They looked desperate now; more were bleeding, some missing bits and pieces. Almost as if they'd been nibbling on each other.

Fortunately, we only had to deal with three between us and the truck. I took out two and Misty got one.

Kali carried the extra sprayers and looked a little dazed. Misty grabbed the pallet jack and I ran, keys in hand, to the truck. It looked a whole lot older up close: graying white paint marred with dents, scratches, and lots of mud.

Finally, we had a bit of luck. I guessed the right key on the first try. The door opened with a rusty creak.

Misty and Kali were having trouble getting the jack up into the bed. "Just a sec, I'll help," I yelled.

I quickly sprayed two approaching zombies and ran back to assist. By now, I could pretty much block out their death screams as they fell to the asphalt.

With a lot of effort, we got the jack into the truck. It had those tie-down things, so securing it was a snap.

By the time we loaded into the cab, all the walking-dead in the parking lot were heading our way. We got out of there right before things started to get ugly.

"Nate, take the second left," Misty said. "It's a block out of the way, but it's a wider road. Less likely to get clogged with these freaks."

"Hey, don't call Kali a freak; geeks are people, too."

"Shut up and concentrate on your driving. We don't want to stall again."

Misty and Kali cracked the windows and stuck the sprayer nozzles out. I left my Super Soaker backpack on. I wasn't taking it off again, even to pee.

The gears in this old truck were super wide apart, but I think I was starting to get the hang of driving stick. I only stalled once.

"Hey, guys. Just thought of something. Might be sorta important." Misty had a big curl of hair in her mouth.

"What?" I asked with a sigh.

"I just remembered Foley Paper is right next to the city cemetery," she said as she shot her sprayer at a passing zombie, hitting it right across the face.

"Oh, this is bad," I said. We'd seen lots of undead, but most didn't appear to have been in the ground for long. I'm guessing they were victims before becoming zombies. You know—bitten, managed to get away, only later to be zombified themselves.

"I don't think we have much choice. Our whole plan centers around getting the acid," Misty replied.

As we approached the cemetery, I dropped into first gear—we crawled along.

We rounded the corner, prepared for the worst. But our luck held out—well, sort of.

"The cemetery gates are locked. They can't get out," I said enthusiastically.

Most were caked in dirt, half dressed, many missing limbs. Some had ripped their lips to shreds trying to get their wired-shut mouths open. They all pressed up against the wrought-iron fence like rioters at a European soccer match. The ones closest to the gates had been trampled. But besides that, they didn't look to be pushing too hard. The fence seemed to be holding.

"Geez, look how many of them there are," said Misty, pointing.

Kali stuck his oversized nose between us from the crew cab. "There must be hundreds more inside. That cemetery holds thousands of graves."

Kali wasn't a bad kid, but for some reason even when he was right, he got on my nerves. Like just then, I wanted to grab his head and push him into the back seat.

"It doesn't look like they're too serious about breaking the gate down. If we're fast, we might be all right," I said.

Misty pointed. "There's loading ramps around on the left. Maybe they'll be open."

We drove around back to find all the loading doors closed. The building was huge: two massive smoke stacks, conveyors and pipes running everywhere. But the whole place seemed shut up.

"Just like Foley Paper, making everyone lock up before evacuating," I said.

I drove right up to the front door, and started to get out. Misty put her hand on my arm.

"Nate, drive the truck around to the loading dock. I know my way around. Just keep honking so we'll know which dock you're at."

"No, I'm coming too. Once we get-—"

"Nate, there's no time. If those zombies smell us, they're going to start pushing that fence." She dashed through the front door.

I clenched my jaw as I thought about staying behind, though I knew she was right.

"Hey, do not worry, Nate. I will protect your girlfriend." And Kali ran off too.

"She's not my girlfriend!" I yelled to myself; he'd already gone. How did Kali get off calling Misty my girlfriend? Where'd he get an idea like that? It's not as if we held hands or anything.

The loading dock sloped slightly up, which made backing up a little tricky. Twice, I smashed into the side rails—low speed, not much damage. I managed to grind up the gears pretty good, though. I'm sure the owner wasn't going to be happy when he went to Walmart to pick his truck up. If he was even still alive.

From the dock, I could make out the corner of the cemetery a good hundred yards away. I might have been imagining it, but I think the zombies had started pushing against the fence. Maybe they really could smell us.

As soon as I finished backing up, I started laying on the horn. I turned on the radio, thinking maybe I could get the emergency alert station. Tuned it to AM sixteen-ten and sure enough, over the wail of the horn, I heard that familiar buzz that always seemed to interrupt Kung Fu Theater every time a thunderstorm rolled in.

A second later, Misty smiled in my rear view mirror.

"Sorry, the loading dock is closed due to the Zombie Holiday."

"Ha, ha," I said without smiling and started to get out of the truck.

"Nate, keep the engine warm. Kali's already found where the chemicals are stored. He's locating the sulfuric acid. Stay in the truck; we've got it covered."

I frowned, but got back in. Misty stepped onto the bed to get the pallet jack. The flatbed was a couple of inches higher than the dock, making it almost the perfect height.

"Need some help with that?" I asked Misty as she pulled the jack onto the dock.

"No, thank you. I've got it—just stay put."

I was trying to think of a reason to join them when the emergency alert started.

"This is the Emergency Alert System. This is not a test."

No duh, I thought.

The voice sounded a little freaked. Like they'd just handed a script to someone off the street and told him to read.

"The Cities of Greenburg, Indian Springs, and Quincy are under mandatory quarantine by order of the Federal Emergency Management Agency. Under no circumstances should anyone enter these restricted areas. Persons found attempting to enter quarantined areas will be detained and subject to mandatory medical quarantine."

The message stopped. It sounded as if they didn't give a rat's rear about anyone unlucky enough to still be in the quarantine zone.

When it started up again, I expected a repeat, but it was different. "On May twenty-seventh at seven p.m., the following areas will be sterilized and are subject to ordnance detonation. These areas should be avoided, including a radius of one mile." Ordnance detonation, yeah, I think that should be avoided.

"Greenburg funeral home, Greenburg mortuary, Indian Springs Cemetery, Quincy East Lawn—" Wait, did he say Indian Springs Cemetery? What time is it? Oh, crud it's seven-fifteen. We had to get the heck out of there, and fast.

I grabbed the keys and ran to the dock. As I climbed up, I saw Misty and Kali coming my way, both pushing pallets with large drums on them.

"We located a second pallet lift. I should have deduced there would be several at this facility," Kali said.

"Nathan, I thought I told you to stay in the truck. We don't need any help. You're such a chauvinist. I can—"

Misty must not have got a good look at me or she probably would have noticed the expression of utter terror that must have been on my face. "Quick, we've got to get out of here, now!"

"What are you blabbering about?" she asked.

"Bombs—they are going to bomb the cemetery!"

"What? When?"

"Now, at any time—let's go." I started climbing back down the dock.

"Wait, it's essential we procure the sulfuric acid. It will only take a moment to load, and if we fail, so might any hope of survival."

I could have cared less about the acid, but this wasn't a time for arguing and Misty wouldn't have let me leave without Kali. I jumped up and helped him push his pallet over the lip and into the truck. It only took us a minute to load and strap down both pallets. We didn't even bother removing the jacks.

"Get your rears in the truck!"

There was just one problem: our luck ran out.

I turned the key, but the truck wouldn't start. It turned over, groaned and moaned, but didn't start.

Chapter 13 – There Goes the Cemetery

"Darn it, Nate. I told you to keep the truck running."

"You said keep it warm, not running. How was I to know it wasn't going to start?"

"It was sitting in front of an auto center!"

Crack, crank, crank—still nothing.

"They only do oil changes, tire rotations."

"Your quarreling is comparable to a proverbial married couple. Misty, open the door. I have an idea."

"Kali, stay here—" but it was too late. He was already out of the truck, heading to the dock.

"Where's that little dork going?"

"Cut him some slack, will you?" Misty said with more anger than I expected. "I don't think Kali socializes with kids his own age much. He told me his mom homeschools him."

I tried to start the truck again. Now it wouldn't even turn over. "I hope he has a plan because we are seriously hos—"

 "Look..." Misty pointed at the sky. A pair of jets flew overhead.

"Maybe if we flag them down," I suggested.

"No, they—" suddenly we heard a loud thud and felt something smash into the truck. I looked into the rear view mirror just in time to see a forklift rock backward.

Kali had smashed the forks into the back of the truck, which began to slowly roll forward. He unbuckled the seatbelt, jumped down, and ran to the car door.

He didn't get in, but started pushing. "Nice try, but you can't push us all the way home," I yelled.

"No, Nate. I think we're going to pop the clutch. Kali, how do you do it?" Misty asked.

We started picking up a little speed heading downhill, but we only had twenty feet or so before the parking lot leveled out.

"Nate, fully engage the clutch and put the transmission into first gear. Then on my mark, as quickly as possible, fully release the clutch and re-engage it," Kali yelled.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" I frowned, sweat suddenly dripping down my forehead.

"Nate, I've seen my dad do it lots of times." If anyone knew how to pop a clutch, it would be Misty's dad. Their station wagon always broke down.

"Yes, my friend. This will work, but you must fully disengage and re-engage the clutch as quickly as possible."

"Okay, I'm in first gear. Say when." I had no faith this would actually work, or more precisely, that I could do it right. But I didn't have a better idea.

"On my mark...a second more." Kali still pushed and we'd picked up a little more speed.

"Wow, he's strong for a little nerd," I said.

Just when I thought the car would start slowing down, he dove in face-first, right onto Misty's lap, his head almost in mine.

"NOW!" he screamed.

Clutch out, clutch in.

The truck bucked like we'd hit a brick wall, but sure enough the engine revved to life.

"I can't believe that worked," I said.

"Excellent maneuver, Nate." Kali sat up and Misty swung the door closed.

"Just don't stall on the way back," she added.

All eyes were on me. If I stalled now, we couldn't get it started back up. I was about to say don't worry, when we heard the scream of low-flying jets.

"Here they come." I don't recall who said it, because the next second everything went seriously crazy.

We'd made it to the edge of the parking lot when the cemetery went up in flames. Huge flames that seemed to reach up past the sky. Sound so loud it hurt, not explosions, but a roar. I felt the heat through the windshield, quickly drying the sweat off my forehead.

I knew we couldn't get out through the driveway. It was way too close to the flames. So I made a sharp turn, flew over the curb and the truck went sliding down a small grass hill. The barrels shifted and I thought they might fall off.

Somehow, we made it to the street in one piece. I glanced over. Even though Kali had a dark complexion, he looked white as paper. Misty looked no better.

"That was fun. Anyone care to do it again?" I asked.

"Napalm," was all Kali said.

I'd heard of the stuff, but didn't really know what it was. Now at least I knew what it did.

"Oh no. Two more jets coming this way," Misty said. The jets flew directly opposite us. They were huge and so low I could read the numbers on their wings as they passed overhead. I thought they might land right in the street.

Carefully, I put it into fourth gear and smashed the gas pedal.

As we drove farther away, I tried to calm down. But still pushed that old truck as much as I dared.

The sky rang with an explosion, and another, and another—bombs landing back at the cemetery. Still it felt like they were aiming for our rear bumper.

"It would seem the military is following up their deployment of napalm with some form of explosive ordnance," Kali yelled over the thunder of exploding bombs.

"Probably want to make sure they're all dead. That's a pretty big cemetery," I said.

"That is precisely what has me concerned. This barrage will unquestionably destroy at least a portion of the perimeter fence. Any zombies that survive this offensive will be free to roam the streets."

"They might even dig up more graves with those bombs, who knows?"

"Stop it, guys. You're worrying about nothing. The government knows what they're doing," Misty said.

I wanted to ask if she was talking about the same government that left three kids to fend for themselves in a city full of the living dead, but thought better of it.

As we approached Walmart, I could feel that something was wrong with the clutch. By the time we pulled into the parking lot, the truck had a big problem. I kept giving it more and more gas to keep it going. The engine revved up really high, still it barely crawled along.

"Do you guys smell that?" asked Misty.

"I think that's the clutch," I tried to say with a smile. "I'm going to coast into the garage. Kali, jump out and open it for me."

"I'll do it," Misty said.

I wanted to tell her no, but I knew she'd accuse me of being a chauvinist and do it anyway. It wasn't that I thought of Misty as weak. I mean, I always picked her first for dodgeball. I just couldn't live with myself if I let anything happen to her.

I slowed way down and just sort of rolled toward the door. Misty jumped out and ran for the garage, dodging a couple of zombies reaching out to get to know her. They smacked into each other, their heads clinking together like a pair of bowling balls. She managed to get the door open right as the truck rolled up.

The truck died as we rolled into the garage. Smoke streaming out of the undercarriage.

*

I don't think any of us got much sleep that night. Even Misty was starting to look tired.

 "Okay, we all agree. We'll take the Pony to the fire station." The three of us sat in the vision center, picking at our breakfast. The cookie dough was gone and the cinnamon rolls were getting stale.

"Kali, you find the fire truck operating manual. Misty will locate the keys and I'll make sure it's loaded with gas and water." They both nodded. "We'll lock Dad's car in the station's garage and head back here. Any questions?"

I wasn't excited about taking the Mustang. There were just too many zombies now. But we couldn't be sure any of the other cars ran right.

As we walked to the auto center, I grabbed a handful of jerky from a register. "You guys want some?"

"I don't eat beef," Kali replied.

"That's dumb." I threw a piece to Misty.

Only she didn't catch it; she didn't even try. It hit her in the face.

"Nate!" She gave me an icy stare.

"What? You're as good a catch as me. Shoulda seen it coming." Then I let loose a nice respectable belch. Not with my mouth open or anything gross like that. But for some reason, it set Misty off.

"You're such a pig. Sometimes I wonder why we're best friends." Her face glowed a deep shade of red.

I was actually a little relived to hear her say it—that we were still best friends—I wasn't sure anymore. But I didn't let on. "What's up with you lately? Don't I treat you like one of the guys? I've always treated you just like one of the guys."

Kali's feet tapped against the linoleum as he started quickly walking ahead of us.

"That's the problem, Nate. I'm not one of the guys. I'm not even a girl anymore, though you obviously haven't noticed."

Not a girl anymore? What did she think she was, a woman? I almost turned and walked away, but something hit me: I really cared about how she felt. I didn't have any idea what she was talking about, or why she was so ticked. But I knew I'd really upset her and I wasn't happy about it.

"Sorry," I mumbled, glancing at a huge Lego Millennium Falcon set as we passed by.

I thought she started to say something, but we ended up walking the rest of the way in silence.

Kali had started loading the car. I popped open the hood, checked the fluid levels and then walked around to give the car a visual inspection, like I'd seen my dad do a hundred times.

"Um, guys. I think we have a problem. You better check this out." Misty sat on top of a pallet of dog food, looking with wide eyes out the small, oblong window built into the garage door.

I could tell this wasn't good.

Chapter 14 – A Fieldtrip to the Firehouse

Kali and I climbed up to have a look. Hundreds of undead stood scattered outside the parking lot. These looked a lot more 'seasoned' than the zombies we'd seen before.

Many were missing chunks or limbs, rotting flesh falling off bones. They all looked really tee'd off—as if they'd just been woken up from a really nice, really long nap.

I tried to make my voice sound calm when I said, "There's not much we can do. We'll have to make a run for it."

"We may require some additional firepower." Kali ran back into the store to get some more Super Soakers.

Misty knew me as well as anyone. I'm sure she didn't buy my calm act. I could tell by the way her hazel eyes darted about she was worried, too, but neither of us said anything.

As we waited for Kali's return, we listened to the chorus of The Undead. The death screams of a thousand lost souls, echoes of their last cries—desperate, but hollow. I wondered if we'd be able to hear it from the vision center.

Starting the engine, I realized this was the first time I thought we might not make it. Sure, it was scary running around town with a few zombies chasing us. But this was insane; one wrong move and we were done. I kept picturing the car stalling, zombies breaking through the window; Misty screaming as they dragged her out before I could get it re-started.

With that happy thought, I signaled Misty to open the door. "Just enough to get the car through, no more." No way was anyone getting out to close it behind us.

The door opened and a few of the undead got in. Too stupid to duck, they smashed into the garage door, fell down and stood up inside. Kali and Misty made quick work of them and we drove off. Very slowly.

It was like plowing snow. Only zombies aren't soft like snow. They bounced off the bumper, one after another.

Not as many zombies wandered the streets, but I still couldn't swerve to miss them all. I stopped counting when we'd hit a dozen. The front-end and hood were both smashed up. My face started turning red—my ears burning. I kept thinking this car might be the last connection I'd ever have to my dad and it was getting totaled.

Misty and Kali both kept their mouths shut. Even when we drove over a zombie and the car hopped up like a low-rider with hydraulics, no one said a word.

As we pulled up to the fire station, I broke the silence. "Think I'll pull right up to the door. With a little luck it'll open inward."

The station was an old red and brown brick two-story building with a huge five-stall garage attached. Surrounded by woods as far as I could see, it looked as if it was built right into the edge of the forest.

"Umm, Nate. I am positive that the door will not open inward. That would constitute a fire hazard. Seeing that this is a Fire Station, they think about things like that," Kali said in a small voice.

"Mother—Okay, plan B. I'll pull up alongside the door," I said, talking rapidly and sweating just as fast. "Kali, stand in the doorway and hold it open. I'll move the car right up next to it and wedge the door open."

I had to admit Kali was a brave little turd; standing in the doorway with every zombie in sight trained on him. I backed the car right into the side of the fire station (fortunately for the wall, it was brick—not so fortunate for the Mustang), then pulled so close to the door I knocked the side mirror off.

At that point, I didn't care.

While I parked, Misty made quick work of any zombie that ventured within spitting distance. By the time I'd crawled out through the passenger side window, she had a small pile of smoking zombies stacked up like a smoldering bonfire.

"Let's get moving," I said.

"Nate, I'll go with you to put the Mustang in the garage. Kali, can you open one of the bays when we pull up?"

"Forget the Mustang."

"But Nate, it's your dad's Mustang."

"I don't care. It served its purpose. No one is risking their life for that car." I took a deep breath. "It's not like much else can happen to it, anyway."

Misty and Kali both nodded while trying to avoid looking in the general direction of the car.

Inside, the station looked more like a tiny waiting room than a firehouse. A front desk and two plush, over-stuffed armchairs, there was hardly room for all three of us.

Footsteps creaked from the floor above. "Hear that?" asked Misty.

"It's gotta be a zombie. Who knows how many are in here?" I said.

Misty and Kali exchanged glances before heading into the back rooms. I took the extra weed sprayers and went to the garage. A moment later, the familiar cry of a zombie in its death throes echoed down the hall. They must have made a new friend; I resisted the urge to run and check on them.

The fire station garage was in perfect order. Tools, equipment, gear, hung up, ready for inspection. All but one of the bays had a truck parked in it. I knew which truck I was looking for: not the huge one with the ladder, the smaller one—the tanker engine—it was still really big. I looked at the cherry-red truck gleaming in the light, salvation wrapped in a shiny red paintjob. I opened the door and hopped in. Don't know what I expected to find, but this wasn't it.

Inside, it looked like the bridge of a spaceship. Tons of digital gauges, dozens of buttons and levers, even two computers. Just finding the gas gauge took a minute.

Thankfully, it was all gassed up and even had keys in the ignition.

I couldn't figure out which gauge was for the water tank. So I loaded the weed sprayers and stuff, then checked on the side of the truck. There was a huge pump panel, but it too was a maze of gauges. Staring all the gauges and knobs, I didn't notice the zombie behind me until it was too late.

Something smacked me hard in the back of the head, then it grabbed me and lifted me off my feet.

Disoriented, I tried to squirm away, but it had me by both arms. Huge hands squeezing my upper arms like vice grips. Its head smashing into my back and shoulders again and again—like being hit with a baseball bat.

This was one big zombie, but I couldn't figure out why it hadn't taken a bite out of me. My mind raced. Maybe it was infected, but hadn't fully turned. If so, I had to act fast, before it got hungry.

I tried screaming, but it squeezed my arms so tight against my chest, I couldn't move enough air to make more than a whimper.

My Super Soaker dangled below my feet, out of reach.

On the fire truck, above the pump panel, hung a fireman's axe. With my arms pinned to my sides, there was no way to grab it.

Wham, wham—its head went smashing into my back. I wanted to turn to see it, except I wasn't about to get smacked in the nose.

My only chance was the axe. Using my feet, I climbed up the pump panel. I'd almost reached it when the zombie made a muffled scream and shook me violently. It sounded as if it'd skipped breakfast.

Again, I walked up the pump panel. I managed to grab and hold the axe between my feet.

It shook me as I pulled my knees up and, bending my elbows, grabbed for the axe, but with my upper arms clamped to my sides, I couldn't reach it.

Two more whacks slammed into my back and shoulders. Wincing in pain, I almost dropped the axe.

I had one shot. I quickly brought my knees up and let go of the axe with my feet. Miraculously, it flew up, the spiked end hitting my chest—which was still sharp enough to slice open my shirt. Grabbing the axe with both hands, I quickly took it in my left one and, bending my elbow, swung it over my back as hard as I could.

It was sheer luck that I hit the zombie rather than chopping open my own shoulder blade. The axe bounced off the zombie's head and flew across the garage.

It screamed and dropped me.

Scooping up my Super Soaker, I spun on my rear and blasted it. Instantly, it became apparent why it'd spared me. The zombie was dressed in full firefighter gear—including a respirator and mask that covered its face. This zombie was huge, even for a firefighter. Clad all in yellow, like a muscle-bound canary. Blood oozed down its forehead from the axe wound. It looked pretty ticked off.

The mask had saved me from its teeth, but now shielded its face from my spray.

I quickly rolled away, staggered to my feet, totally out of breath.

I turned and was about to run when I saw a hose lying on the ground. It was connected to the tanker truck. Grabbing the nozzle with one hand, I pulled the valve above it open with the other.

Nothing came out.

The zombie advanced on me. I frantically started turning wheels and knobs. I must have hit the right one, because I heard a pump start and suddenly water sprayed everywhere. The hose jerked out of my hand and flew through the air right at my face.

The spray stung the side of my head as I ducked. The nozzle bounced off the side of the fire truck.

Like a rocket, it smashed into the zombie's facemask, sending the monster staggering backward, right through the front window. Glass shattering as it fell onto the back of the Mustang. The zombie lay motionless across the trunk.

The hose ricocheted sideways until it hit a pole, smashed into the ground, bounced up, and flew straight at the Mustang. It blasted through what was left of the car's rear windshield, where it bounced around the interior.

I reached to pull the hose out of the car when the undead firefighter stood up; even with its milky eyes, I felt it stare. Large cracks spidered across the mask's glass where the nozzle had hit. I aimed my gun at its face and just kept spraying. It closed in. I pumped and pumped, and sprayed some more. Enough juice got through; it screamed and tried to pull the broken facemask off as it fell backward.

The zombie hit the ground. There was a loud pop. I jumped as the air tank flew up, off its back, and smashed right into the Mustang's rear-end where it stuck, embedded in the trunk, making a hissing sound as it expelled its gas.

I stood speechless, looking at what had once been my dad's Mustang. The hose now caught on the steering wheel, still clanking about, gushing water into the dash.

Reaching behind me, I started mashing valves closed as Misty and Kali came rushing in.

They looked as much like twins as possible. Mouths gaping open, the same stunned expression on their faces. Huge round eyes looking from me, to the zombie, to the Mustang, trying to figure out what the heck had happened.

Chapter 15 – Sodium Bicarbonate Discharge Device

No one said anything. All three of us just stared at the car in disbelief.

Finally, Misty spoke softly, "Umm, Nate, what the heck happened?"

"Did you get the manuals?" I asked.

"I have them here," Kali replied, looking down at the floor. His arms full of a mess of notebooks and papers.

"I think I've got the keys," Misty squeaked and held out a big key ring.

"There's a pair in the truck."

I grabbed a stack of papers out of Kali's hands and threw them into the back.

 "We locked three of those automatons in the kitchen, but I'm not sure how long the door will hold," Misty said.

"Come on. Let's go."

Kali looked over the tanker and said, "I'll sit on top of the truck. There is a seat up there."

"Kali, I think you better sit inside with us," Misty said as I disconnected the hose from the truck.

"I can operate the automatic door controls from that location, and if we encounter resistance, I believe I can operate the main nozzle. It will not neutralize the zombies, but the force of the spray would certainly incapacitate them for a brief period of time."

"Sounds fine to me," I said glancing over at Misty to see if she was going to argue. She clenched her hands as if she were ready to punch something, but didn't say a word.

"Think we better swap guns." I hesitated a second before taking off my backpack Super Soaker and exchanged it for Kali's smaller rifle.

The controls for the garage hung from the ceiling via a long thick cable. On the end was a big yellow box with large round buttons. Kali took it on top of the truck with him.

Once inside the cab, the engine started right up with a turn of the key. I stared at all the buttons and gauges, hoping I could drive it.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Misty wasn't sure either.

"Nope, but no better time to learn," I said, then hollered up to Kali and the garage door opened.

Driving a fire truck really wasn't hard. They're even automatic, which meant I couldn't stall or burn out the clutch.

I drove over a couple curbs, but in such a big truck and squashing so many zombies, we hardly noticed.

By the time we drove back to Walmart, I could handle the truck pretty well. It wasn't like there were any other cars driving around.

As we pulled up, I wondered how'd we get the garage door open the rest of the way (it was only opened enough for the Mustang, may she rest in peace), when the radio squealed.

"This is Kali, do you read me, over?" The sound crackled over the truck's speakers.

"Hey, he's got a radio up there," Misty said. She found a headset and put it on. "Loud and clear, good buddy." I chuckled to myself. Misty didn't exactly fit the image of a trucker.

"Please proceed as close as possible to the garage door and I will push it open. Then I will close it immediately behind us."

"Sometimes it's not so bad having a pint-sized genius around," I said.

The zombies in the parking lot seemed very interested in what we were doing, but Misty and Kali shot any that got close enough to climb on board.

Kali opened the door as we pulled up. Five zombies walked around inside the garage, but he shot them with my Super Soaker before we'd even pulled in.

We hadn't thought to move enough pallets for the fire truck to squeeze through. So I ran over one, dog food spilling everywhere, rolling across the floor like a million marbles.

As soon as the back of the truck was in, Kali radioed for us to stop. He closed the door before more undead could get in. The door made a loud thud as it slammed closed. I looked at Misty. Neither of us smiled, but I could see the relief in her eyes.

Using the pallet jack, we moved the corpses outside. Opening the garage door just enough to slide them out.

"If we stay here much longer, we're going to have to start using masks," I said. "The stench is getting pretty strong." The sticky-sweet smell, like aged baby diapers and rotting meat, was strong enough to seep into the building.

"We will be vacating the area before that becomes necessary," Kali said. I closed the side door to the auto center, hoping to block out most of the sounds and smells of the undead.

That night, Misty and I locked ourselves in the vision center. Kali couldn't sleep and wanted to hang out in the store and read the emergency manuals. Misty thought it was a bad idea, but he insisted.

He had a set of keys, so I didn't see what the big deal was. But after our argument earlier in the day, I didn't want to get involved. Eventually, Kali got Misty to reluctantly agree that he could sit right outside the gate and read.

Even with the lights out, it took me a few minutes to work up the courage to speak to her. The last thing I wanted to do was make things between us worse, but for the sake of our friendship, I had to say something.

"Hey, Misty? I'm really sorry about this afternoon," I whispered. Figuring if she was still too mad to talk, she could pretend to be asleep.

"You don't even know what you did, do you?" she whispered back, sounding a thousand miles way.

"Ummm..." Should I go with belching or hitting her in the face with meat?

"Don't worry about it, Nate. I just miss the way things used to be. Simpler, like in grade school."

"That's exactly how I feel." My voice rose, not believing she felt the same. Though I couldn't understand, it was her changing things.

"I guess we have to grow up sometime, huh?"

I didn't know what to say. "Misty, I am sorry if I've been ticking you off. But I haven't been doing it on purpose—at least not most of the time. I don't even know what I've been doing." I stared blankly up into the darkness as I spoke.

"Boys. I suppose it's my fault." I could hear her sigh.

"No, I'm pretty sure it's mine. This isn't the first time I've messed things up without knowing how I was doing it."

"Tell you what; I'll try to do a better job communicating my needs, okay?"

Communicating needs? I was hosed. I still had no idea what she was talking about. "Yeah...okay"

"Don't forget to say your prayers." The rustling of sheets told me she'd rolled over.

I'd done more praying in the last two days than I had in all my life. I think there's a saying, there are no atheists in a zombie invasion—except maybe the zombies.

Misty crashed like my dad when he conks out in front of the TV. She even had that low, almost inaudible snore. Every muscle in my body ached; I was wiped out, but just couldn't rest. I kept rolling around under my covers. After a couple hours wrestling with my sheets, my stomach started complaining more than my muscles. I turned my flashlight on, got up, and quietly dug through a snack rack we'd rolled in by the front of the vision center. I whispered to Kali to see if he wanted something. He didn't reply. I shined my flashlight on his seat over by the gate.

He was gone.

Maybe he was out doing some late night shopping. I turned my flashlight on high and slowly panned across the store. I couldn't see any sign of him.

I looked over at Misty. She'd pushed all her sheets off and a big pool of drool was collecting on her pillow. I wasn't about to wake her.

 Taking a deep breath, I grabbed a gun and unlocked the door. I locked Misty in the vision center, but left the key hanging next to the lock, so we could unlock it from either side. If zombies were smart enough to figure out how to use a key, we wouldn't stand a chance, anyway.

I was a little worried about Kali, but figured he was bright enough to watch out for himself. I really just wanted to know what he was up to. Why was he sneaking off in the middle of the night? I held my fingers over the flashlight; just enough reddish light escaped so I could walk without bumping into anything.

It took all the nerve I had to walk around in the dark. I figured there weren't any more zombies left hiding out in the store, but I couldn't be sure none had managed to find a way in. I kept imagining a big pair of white eyes glowing in the darkness, watching me as I walked by.

I started with the auto center. Even checking under the fire truck, then moved to the store. I put off the men's clothing section until last. I didn't have fond memories of the last time I went tromping around it in the dark.

Before I got there, I heard something from beyond the two swinging doors that led to the warehouse. I couldn't figure out what it was.

I flipped the flashlight off and saw an orange glow shining through the windows in the doors. I was only ten feet away, but it took forever to walk up to those doors. I'm not sure if I was trying to be stealthy, or if I was just scared.

Inch by inch, I moved my head so I could peer through the window. I had no idea what I was looking at. Two pairs of utility lights were set up. You know, those really bright portable ones. They flanked either side of a big aboveground pool.

And there was something in it, thrashing and splashing around. For a split second, I thought, zombie shark. But even before I realized how dumb that sounded, I saw a hand reaching up. It was Kali.

I dashed in and jumped up the side of the pool. Reaching down, I grabbed an arm and lifted him up.

"Dude, are you all right? Were you drowning?"

"No, it's only three point five feet deep." He jerked his arm out of my hand. "I was swimming."

"Swimming? More like floundering."

I looked down at him. He looked so small; naked except for trunks. His wet hair plastered to his head. He wiped the water from his face. "I was practicing."

"Don't think so. You can't swim." I jumped down.

"Can too." His voice shook. He looked down and added, "I just require a little more practice to achieve proficiency."

"You must really want to learn to swim," I said, looking over the pool and lights he'd secretly set up in the middle of the night.

"If our attempt to eradicate the zombie infestation fails, we may have to flee via Bear River."

"We could just take Highway 70 west. It's a long hike, but I bet we could make it back to civilization."

"I am concerned that the anomaly that is re-animating the dead might spread to other species. Making travel through the mountains ill-advised"

"You mean like zombie squirrels and bears?"

"It is a possibility. Without knowing for sure, our final option has to be crossing Bear River."

"Hmm, I never thought of that," I said, still looking at the pool with amazement.

"If you do not mind, I would like to get back to my practicing."

"Why don't you let me teach you to swim?"

"You would do that?"

"That water's ice cold, but I think I can teach you to dog paddle without getting wet."

I spent the next thirty minutes or so teaching Kali how to dog paddle. He was no athlete, but he sure had heart.

He kept practicing when I left. I wondered what he planned to tell Misty in the morning about the whole pool setup. She'd love the idea of having a swimming pool—least 'till she felt the water.

In the morning, Kali was sitting back outside the vision center; wide-eyed, poring over emergency equipment and procedure manuals. He didn't mention last night. He just kept spitting out totally useless facts about the tanker truck. Did you know our fire truck weighs in excess of twenty-eight thousand pounds when fully loaded? Or the main water cannon can expel all one thousand gallons in less than three minutes? He should have been getting on my nerves, but I think he was starting to grow on me. Or at least I no longer wanted to stuff a dirty sock down his mouth.

Misty and I were supposed to be calculating how much sulfuric acid we needed in order to mix a thousand gallons of zombie juice. We mixed large samples with water and tested the pH. She did most of the work. I tried to stand back; this was some crazy stuff. We had to wear facemasks and gloves to even handle it.

"I believe by properly adjusting the nozzle output, I can induce the cannon to fire a fine mist nearly fifty feet. The tank should last over an hour in this mode," Kali said.

"I'm going to go make some zombie juice balloon bombs. Holler if you guys need me," I said.

"Zombie juice balloon bombs?" Kali looked up.

"Yeah, they're lemonade-filled water balloons."

"I see..." He started to look back down, but then his eyes lit up like two coconuts. "Wait, you just inspired me. I have a brilliant idea for constructing zombie juice bombs."

I was a little annoyed. Hadn't I just said I was going to go make some? Then he told us what he had in mind.

"Have you ever constructed a vinegar and sodium bicarbonate discharge device?"

Misty and I looked at each other blankly. Sometimes it seemed like we didn't understand half the words that came out of his mouth.

"Okay. Do you recall the volcanoes you built in third grade, with the lava spewing out?"

"Oh yeah, I loved that project," I said.

"So imagine you obstructed the flow, so the lava could not discharge. What would happen?"

"Your teacher would give you an F?"

Misty hit me on the arm. "No, stupid, the pressure would cause it to blow up. Like real volcanoes sometimes do."

"Precisely. Now if we recreate this phenomenon, but in say, a two-liter coke bottle, the resulting explosion should be substantial."

"Using baking soda to build the pressure, right?" Misty said. "But wouldn't that neutralize the acid, making it harmless to zombies?"

"Not if we had a strong enough acid and mixed only the minimum amount of baking soda."

"Kali, you're a genius." Misty leaned over and gave him a hug.

"What about me? I've saved both your rears in the last twenty-four hours," I said.

Misty made pouty lips and sounded like she was talking to a baby. "Oh. Poor, poor Natie-poo. Do you need a hug, too?"

"Nate, I'd be glad to provide you with a reassuring hug."

Had Kali made a joke?

"Ha, ha, very funny." Actually, I could have used a hug (but not from Kali). It'd been a long couple of days, and even though we'd had a rough time of it, I was hoping that things would start going better with Misty.

Kali ran off to build his new and improved zombie juice bomb. Which pretty much put the damper on my balloon bombs. So, I stayed and helped Misty mix up some five-gallon water jugs with sulfuric acid. Our goal was to get the pH between two and three—the lowest Kali said wouldn't burn if it got on our skin.

When we were done, I suggested we go to the warehouse where I'd seen some pleather desk chairs that we could roll the water jugs around on.

I couldn't wait to see Misty's reaction to the pool. As we went through the double doors, I turned around so I wouldn't miss the look on her face.

"Nate, watch where you're going." Misty grabbed my arm. "Where are the chairs?"

"Huh?" I turned around and saw—absolutely nothing. No lights, no pool, not even a drop of water. There was no way Kali could have cleaned up all the evidence. I started looking under shelves for signs of water.

"Here's the chairs. Let's go," Misty said.

We put our sample five-gallon bottles on the chairs and rolled them over to where Kali was working.

When we got there, we heard a buzzing sound. Kali was operating on a soda bottle with a small, handheld Dremel.

"What-ya-doing?" Misty asked.

"I am developing a manual compression delivery apparatus."

"Huh?"

"I am attaching a little string so we can break the bag holding the baking soda."

"Oh, cool. How's it coming?"

"I will be able to report results in a moment."

Kali stuffed a bag with white powder into the soda bottle and put the top on.

"Just pull the string." He pulled it, ripping the bag open. The mixture inside started fizzing.

"Now, I will agitate the solution." He started shaking. The bottle began to bulge. "Nate, perhaps you would care to do the honors?"

He handed me the bottle. "Quickly now—Nate." He made a throwing motion with his arm.

I could tell any second the bottle would burst. I lobbed the thing like a quarterback under pressure. It flew across the store, then hit the ground.

BOOM! A huge spurt of water rose up like a wave, flying a good twenty feet.

It was so loud, we all jumped; no one expected a blast like that.

"I believe we can judge that to be a success," he said.

"Wow, the whole area is soaked."

"Too bad we can't supersize it; we could take out dozens," Misty said. A second later, she started laughing. At first, I thought she was laughing at me. Then I realized—for once—I hadn't said anything stupid. "What's so funny?"

"Perfect shot, Nate. Right into the swimsuit section."

"Oh, crud." I was overdue for a change of trunks.

Chapter 16 – Super Zombie Juice Mega Bomb

 Between soggy dog food, lingering smoke, and the smell of freshly rotting zombies, the place reeked pretty bad. Our supplies were running low, wearing swim trucks was getting old, and worst of all, we were completely out of cinnamon rolls. We had to get out soon, anyway. Kali's 'sterilization' began tomorrow.

"How are we going to turn all that water in the truck into zombie juice? You know, mix it up and stuff?" Misty asked.

"I've got an idea," I said, turning away from Kali. "We can set up a couple of the big above-ground pools. Empty all the water into them, mix in the acid, and then pump it back in the truck."

"We could probably just get by with one, if we mix the juice really strong." Misty looked at Kali, who sat silently. "What ya think, Kali?"

"Ummm...Yes, that's a good idea." Kali rubbed his nose. "I'll go assemble the pool right now."

"Nate and I can do that. You figure out how much acid we'll need to mix into it."

I glanced back at Kali as Misty and I walked away. He was already deep into his calculations and didn't look up.

Misty was trying to pull out a huge box when I caught up. "Hey, one of these has been opened. The box is even wet," she said.

I opened my mouth to tell her about Kali's late night swim, but after a second of indecision, I decided to keep my trap shut. Misty started opening the top, so I said, "Maybe someone tried it out, then returned it."

"Whatever."

"Let me help, and let's get a new box—just in case that one leaks."

We muscled another one off the shelf. "We'll have to figure out where to set it up," Misty said.

"I know the perfect place."

We rolled it on a couple of skateboards and maneuvered the massive box into the warehouse.

It took a little while to figure out, but once we had the pool set up, we ran back to the truck and got the fire hoses. We had to use two hoses: a regular fire hose and, to suck the juice back up, a special, hard-rubber hose. That one was really heavy. We dragged them across the store while Kali read over the operating manual. Once we reached the pool, we met Kali back by the truck.

"How did it go?" he asked.

"The rubber hose barely reached, but fine besides that, nothing unusual," I said.

"To achieve proper suction, it's very important the hose couplers are securely connected. Are you sure you were able to properly connect them?" he asked.

"Yep, they just twisted and locked together." I knew he would check anyway. "But you can double-check, just to make sure."

"A wise precaution."

Kali showed us how much acid to mix with the water. Then, after checking out the hose, he manned the pump while we put on protective gear we had picked up in the hardware section.

"Kali, start 'er up—slowly," I yelled across the store. The hose bucked as it started spurting out water, but with Misty and me holding onto it with both arms, we managed to keep it under control.

Kali had the pump on low, but still, it didn't take long to empty the entire truck into the pool. We carefully mixed in the acid using wooden kayak oars. Once everything looked mixed, the acid was pretty diluted; it seemed about the same as our guns. Misty checked the pH, just to make sure.

"Okay, start sucking," I yelled. This hose had a huge strainer thing on it and didn't move much, but I could hear it sucking the juice up.

Once we had all the zombie juice mixed and pumped back in the truck, we still had tons of work to do. Misty and I did most of the grunt work: testing pH levels, getting Super Soakers and gear loaded, that sort of thing. I threw a kid's sized life vest into the truck when no one was looking—just in case. We worked all day and through the night to get ready for our big offensive. Misty didn't even stop once to 'powder her face' or anything.

Kali focused on outfitting the fire engine. I thought he just wanted to avoid the real work, until we saw how he had tricked out the truck.

"What's that tubing wrapped around the fire engine?" Misty asked.

"It is a pneumatic zombie vapor barrier," replied Kali, head held high.

"Care to say that in English?" I asked, trying to ignore the moans, roars, and grunts of the undead seeping in from outside.

"Sorry. I don't mean to sound superior. It just comes out that way because I am."

I glanced over at Misty, who looked like her jaw might drop right off her face.

"Umm, okay."

"That was a joke, guys. I am working on my sense of humor."

"A joke? Misty, Kali told a joke." I put my arm around him and messed up his hair (some more). "Not a very good one, though. Better keep working at it."

"So, what is it?" Misty asked, sounding a little frustrated.

"It is a patio misting system connected to a 12-volt tire compressor. It shoots a fine mist of zombie juice. I estimate it will provide a five to ten-foot zombie-free perimeter around the vehicle, depending on the direction and force of the wind."

"Kali, I have to admit you've outdone yourself." I finally realized—or maybe just admitted—he was a hecka lot smarter than me.

"I had to dilute the mixture to prevent ocular irritation, but the pH is still low enough that it should prove effective against the undead."

A few of the knots in my stomach loosened up when I saw how prepared we were. Kali had made ten two-liter zombie bombs. Misty and I filled the entire crew area with Super Soakers, sprayers, and tons of other supplies we thought we might need.

"Even if the fire truck's tank runs out, we should have enough juice to get back." Misty loaded the last squirt gun into the cab.

Then I rolled in one of our test five-gallon water bottles—the kind they use in office water coolers.

"What's that?" Misty asked.

"It's a supersized zombie juice bomb. It was your idea," I said.

"You made that?"

"Kali helped a little," I admitted.

"Nate designed and built it. I just helped with the formula for the mixture," he said. "But if my calculations are correct, it should neutralize every zombie in at least a seventy-foot radius."

"If I can get the top to stay on," I said. "I used a paint gun to heat the plastic cap, so I could get it off and back on in one piece. But I think once the pressures builds, it might pop off."

"We could secure it with polyurethane epoxy resin—really strong glue," Kali suggested.

"No, that'll take too long," Misty said. "Get a long, thin strip of leather and we'll wrap it around the top, pulling it tighter and tighter each time."

"That may well be an acceptable alternative."

"Just cut a narrow strip from a leather belt."

"Enough talk. Let's get it done, so we can take the Super Zombie Juice Mega Bomb up to the roof and try it out." I imagined throwing that thing off the roof into a crowd of unsuspecting zombies—that was my kind of fun.

"No time for target practice. Sun's coming up." Misty's eyes darted over to the garage windows.

I could just make out some faint light, creating one large, eerie moving shadow outside. The zombies' cries and moans all seemed to mesh together, too. I could tell there must be even more zombies today, but I wasn't about to go have a look.

I cut a thin strip off the longest belt I could find; one that was made for really fat dudes.

"Here, Nate, let me do it," Misty said when I'd returned with the leather strip. She started lashing it around the side of the water jug's cap, pulling it as tight as she could.

"Misty, how did you learn this procedure?" Kali asked.

"Girl Scouts," she said, not looking up from her work.

"What, you were never a Girl Scout," I said.

"I never said I was in Girl Scouts. I said I learned it at Girl Scouts." She stood up and put her hands on her hips. "There, it's finished." She still looked down at the water bottle.

"Okay, 'fess up. What's the story with Girl Scouts? I can tell you're hiding something, Miss."

"Me? No." I furrowed my brow and stared at her; even Kali wasn't buying it. "Fine. I got kicked out for fighting. Are you happy?"

"See, Kali, I told you she isn't all sweet and innocent."

"I suspect it is part of an elaborate façade she's created." He shook his head.

"Shut up, you two. Nate, you're turning Kali into a—" She was about to lay into us when there was a bang at the garage door. Like one of the zombies had been body-slammed into it. Kali stepped away from the door. Misty, looking startled, said, "We better get going."

We made a quick trip around the store for last minute supplies. Kali got some food (it was going to be one long day), Misty picked up some first-aid supplies and medications, and I went over to the camping section to get three battery-powered personal misters. The kind middle-aged guys with fanny packs wear. Fill it with water, clip the tubing to your shirt and it sprayed a fine mist.

"Hey, guys," I said when we all met up at the fire truck. "Kali's zombie vapor thing gave me an idea. I can tape on these personal misters to provide me a little extra protection while I'm firing the main water cannon."

"Nate, I have planned on manning the water cannon. Your expertise is required to captain the vehicle."

"No way, Kali. It's an automatic. Misty can drive. I'm manning the cannon. I'm the strongest one here."

"Regardless of strength, the logical course is for you to drive."

"Kali, this isn't one of your basement science experiments, this is dangerous stuff."

"Nate, I'm sure you'd be best up top." Misty gently put her hand on my elbow. "But there's no way I can drive this thing. It's not going to matter who's up there if I crash before we get out of the parking lot."

My shoulders dropped a little. "Fine, we'll put the misters on Kali."

We all put on protective gear: white painter's suits, hats, rubber gloves, dorky safety glasses. Besides the huge backpack guns, we also duct-taped smaller Super Soakers onto our suits for easy access.

We looked like some sort of redneck space soldiers. Even Kali, who normally didn't look anything like a redneck, but wearing a full respirator, you could barely see his tan skin.

It took all three of us to load the five-gallon Super Zombie Juice Mega Bomb onto the top of the truck where Kali secured it with bungee cords. Personally, I hate bungee cords. Dad always says it only takes getting smacked in the face once to realize that they have a serious drawback. But Kali insisted, and he'd done such a good job setting up the truck, I didn't argue.

"One more point I think we should discuss," Kali said as he loaded a box with tools and duct tape. "I feel it is imperative that we elect a leader. In the frenzy of battle, we may find ourselves confused or disoriented. It's critical we have one voice to dictate orders."

"Let me guess, you think you would be the perfect candidate?" I said.

"I'm sure I could perform the duties competently. However, I was going to recommend you, Nate. You've shown you possess an uncommonly level head under pressure."

I realized I could say the same thing about him or Misty, but I felt much better giving orders than taking them, so I just thanked him.

"There's no need for a vote then," Misty said. "If Kali votes for Nate, we know Nate will vote for himself, so it doesn't matter who I'd vote for."

"What, you wouldn't vote for me?"

"I didn't say that."

"Who would you vote for, yourself? Kali?"

"I guess you'll never know." If any smile could be both genuine and wicked, it was the one she flashed me as she jumped into the fire truck.

I followed her in. We both put our seatbelts on and went over a checklist we'd put together. Misty had a GPS and the map, I double-checked our supplies and reviewed the pump controls, and Kali tested the water cannon—spraying it right inside the garage. Everything seemed to be in order.

"Okay, my friends, plug in the compressor for the zombie vapor barrier. It should take approximately one point five minutes to reach optimum pressure," Kali said over the radio. "Give me a signal when you are prepared for me to raise the door, over."

Kali had rigged a steel line and pulley so he could pull the door open from the top of the truck. He couldn't close it, but we left three soda bottle bombs on the service desk's red counter so we could clear out the place when—or if—we got back.

We were going out the garage door on the opposite wall. I wasn't going to try to back this thing out if I didn't have to.

We sat there silently watching the vapor barrier for a minute. Everything was ready, except my nerves.

"Guys, do you mind if I say a prayer before we leave?" I knew Misty had gotten this from her dad. The guy said a prayer every time he took a trip, ate a meal, or bought a lottery ticket. This time I didn't complain.

"I am Hindu, but please proceed. I would not be offended in the least."

Misty said a quick prayer. Not only for us and our families, but also the zombies. Asking that it wouldn't hurt them too much when we fried their brains. Which seemed a little weird, but the prayer was nice all the same.

Even though the misters were strung under the windows, water still managed to collect on the windshield. After fiddling with the controls, I figured out how to turn the wipers on.

Keys in hand, I took a deep breath and the engine roared to life. "Okay, Kali. We're ready up here. Open the floodgate."

Misty leaned over and gave me a firm, moist kiss on the cheek. "Good luck," she whispered in my ear. The smell of strawberry-flavored lip-gloss floated in the air. My face started to burn and I felt, well, I don't know how to explain it. Kinda like that first bite of a chocolate sundae on a hot day. Only better, different, way different.

The feeling only lasted a second because the gray sliding door glided open to a crazed, nightmarish party. Bodies pushed together, smashing, flailing about. Morning shadows twisting faces into grotesque, misshapen Halloween masks.

Immediately, zombies rushed in. I flipped on the main pump, but Kali didn't turn on the water cannon. Misty fired the garden sprayers. I wanted to turn on the siren (hey, it's not everyday I get to drive a fire truck), but I didn't want to cause Kali any permanent hearing loss.

Slowly, I drove into the crowd. We got about halfway out when Kali let loose with the cannon. At first, I thought the thing was on full-blast: zombies screaming and flying backward. It made a great plume of vapor like a cloud come to life, creating this huge dead zone around the truck in just a matter of seconds.

"I'm thinking we clear out the parking lot first," I said into my headset.

"Agreed. We can maneuver around until we've neutralized every hostile in the immediate area."

It was slow going. Dead zombies littered every inch of the lot. Making crunching, splattering and occasionally a sickening popping noise as we rolled over them. We'd cracked the windows just enough to get the sprayer nozzles out. The rest of the opening was duct-taped shut, but I could still barely stand the smell. If there was a smell opposite Misty's lip-gloss this was it—a mix of anger, despair and really stinky socks. I felt sorry for Kali out there in the open, even if he did have that huge mask on. I thought about stopping so we could pass him one of the fire-masks and oxygen tanks we had in the back, but it just wasn't safe to stop.

We cleared the entire parking lot in a couple of minutes. The sun peeked over the mountains, lighting up the mess we'd made in the lot—I tried not to look, to keep my eyes fixed ahead. Still, in a way, the mounds of bodies were reassuring. I felt like there was a chance everything might work out all right. Of course, I was wrong. Dead wrong.

Block by block we drove, zombies everywhere. Like a ferocious dragon, we spat out death and destruction to hapless, undead villagers. We'd completed about a third of the town in about an hour.

It'd gone pretty good, least as good as we could expect, considering we were three kids out fighting an army of the undead.

Thanks to Kali's vapor mister thing, sometimes we didn't even have to use the water cannon. We'd go around a corner, the zombies would get about ten feet from the truck and then just fall over smoking (with the prerequisite death scream).

Pulling up to the local health club, there appeared to be seven or eight zombies working out—okay, not working out, but wandering around inside. Just another day at the gym.

"Hey, Kali," I said over the radio. "I'm thinking Misty notes this on the GPS and we come back later to clear these guys out, you agree?"

"I'd prefer to make a clean sweep now, if we can," he replied.

"Too bad the front door's not open, then you could use one of the soda bottle bombs," Misty said as I slowed to a crawl.

I was about to remind her that if the door had been open, they'd come out to play, when Kali jumped down and ran towards the gym.

"No, Kali, get your butt back here, now!" I yelled.

He squatted down in the dirt to pick up a large rock, but at the same time, a zombie stepped out of the bushes. With long dreads and a faded Burning Man t-shirt, it had to be one of the hippies that lived just outside town.

Kali didn't stand a chance. It reached down and picked him up—upside-down. He screamed and kicked his legs wildly as the zombie turned back towards the bushes; it was taking its lunch to go.

Before I could stop her, Misty jumped out and ran towards them, her Super Soaker at the ready. Following, she sprayed it in the back of the head with no effect. None of us realized another zombie still hid in the bushes. It reached out and grabbed her arms with such force she dropped the gun and screamed in pain.

They were both caught, twisting like worms on a hook.

I only had a few seconds before they'd both be bitten. But with Kali's zombie still turned away, I couldn't shoot both in time. If I could only save one, there was no question. I'd feel bad, but Kali was a goner.

Hopping over the seat, I grabbed the door. On my way out, I saw two soda bottle bombs on the cab floor.

There wasn't time to think about it. I dropped the gun and, with each hand, grabbed a soda bomb. Then, as I jumped out of the truck, put them up to my mouth. I bit the strings, ripping them out with my teeth, and started shaking the bottles as I quickly took a couple of huge steps.

Kali's zombie now had him by the ankles and was going in for the kill. Misty's, all decked out in tie-dye, was looking for the best spot to take a chunk out of her arm.

The bottles bulged in my hands. A half-second later, I was within reach. Holding the bottles by their tops, I hit both zombies upside the head. The bottles burst, sending zombie juice flying in everyone's faces.

In unison, the zombies let go of their prey and fell over backward.

I dropped the shattered remains of the bottles and spit out the strings.

Misty and Kali laid in the dirt, rubbing their eyes.

Kali looked up, his eyes watering, and said, "Wow, that was so cool."

"Oh, don't give him a big head," Misty said as she dusted herself off.

"From now on, no one leaves the truck without my approval." I tried to give them the hardest stare I could pull off.

Kali looked at his feet and nodded in agreement.

Misty didn't look me in the eye, but made a half nod.

I figured I'd made my point, and that there'd be no more running off. But it would happen once more, at the worst possible time.

Kali reached down and picked up a couple of large rocks. "Sorry, Nate. I should have told you what I planned."

I just nodded as we headed back to the truck.

Misty put her hand over her face and mumbled, "Power trip."

I wanted to tell her to close her big trap. But if I did, she might have picked up a rock herself.

"Since I have already obtained the ore, I suggest we proceed to create an opening in the gym window."

The gym was a gray, cheap-looking steel building with the words, 'Plumas Fitness' in large purple neon lettering.

I drove right up the curb, next to the front windows.

Crash! The rock went though the window. Zombies started towards the hole in the glass. Kali threw a soda bottle and wham. Just like in Walmart, except this time it took out the undead and not racks of swim trunks.

"Great shot, Kali," I said.

We looked in the windows to make sure nothing else moved.

"Nate, did you see those zombies had gym clothes on? One was even wearing a leotard," Misty said.

"I guess they must have been bitten while working out."

I can't really explain it, but even driving around killing zombies, sitting there with Misty just felt right.

"My hypothesis is that the transformation from human to zombie is expeditious. This would explain why there are a myriad of zombies that do not appear to have originated in the cemetery." Kali paused and the radio crackled. "When a victim is bitten, he or she inevitably flees. If they successfully facilitate their escape, they quickly become infected. This would also explain...Hey, did you see that? It appears to be a military jet flying directly overhead."

"Do you think they saw us?" I asked.

"Most likely, as you have the emergency lights engaged."

"Oh, yeah. I forgot about that." I hadn't even realized I had the lights on. There were so many switches and levers, I guess I bumped one by accident.

"Think we should go back to Walmart in case those jets start dropping bombs?" Misty asked.

"No, we should keep going," I said.

"Yes. Walmart would provide insufficient protection. The tanker is approximately one-third full. I suggest we continue to the far side of town."

"We could refill?" Misty said.

"Let's just get going."

"I concur. There is a high probability that the air strike may be imminent. This could be our only chance. We need to neutralize enough zombies to ensure the phenomenon will be observed."

We sped off to the other side of town. I wasn't sure what to expect. This was a more rural area. I hoped there would be fewer undead roaming around.

It was slower going here. Trees and bushes so thick, it was sometimes hard to spot the undead as they wandered around the edge of the woods. But the zombies did seem more scattered. I figured that if we had time, we might have enough juice to clear out most of the town in one trip.

"Nate, look at that. There must be a hundred of them," said Misty, her voice cracking.

Sure enough, just down the street, a huge swarm of zombies—the biggest crowd we'd seen.

"No problem. I'll plow right through them." I punched the gas, not realizing it was a mistake—one of those mistakes you're lucky if you live to regret.

Chapter 17 – Zombie Fowl Frenzy

"Nate, stop!" Kali hollered over the radio.

It was too late. I stood on the brake pedal, but they just locked up as the truck smashed into the crowd. Immediately, it became obvious they'd gathered around an overturned semi-truck.

The sound of metal grating against metal cut the air. Sparks flew as we veered to the left, jumped the curb and smashed into a brick retaining wall.

We jerked to a stop so suddenly my brains rattled in my head. When the rattling stopped, I asked, "Everyone okay?"

"Nate, you moron!" Misty smacked my arm with the back of her hand. It wasn't her I worried about. Kali had strapped himself in, but we hit so hard I thought he might have flown right off the truck.

The radio squealed and Kali yelled, "Nate! Holy cow, get the fudge out of here—shoot, get your rear going!" Except those might not be the exact words he used.

I didn't know what caused him to freak out. But it was a safe bet it had something to do with the horde of zombies we'd just smashed into.

I threw the truck into reverse and slammed the gas pedal. The engine roared, but we didn't move.

"Nate, the birds—the chickens—look at the chickens." Misty bounced up and down in her seat, as if she'd spotted one of those guys on the cover of Tiger Beat that she was always drooling over.

Out the window, a flock of birds circled the truck—well, chickens, to be exact. They looked like a violently spinning tornado.

"Wow, I guess we hit a poultry truck," I said, almost amused.

"Nate, don't you realize—the birds..." she gazed out the window in awe. "They're zombie chickens."

"Oh, dang. You're right." Hundreds of chickens flew in every direction. Each with glazed-over eyes, a lot were bleeding, missing feathers—these birds looked like they were in a really fowl mood.

I heard a plink on the roof of the truck, then another. The sound of water drops filled the cab.

"Kali, you alright, over?" Misty yelled into her headset. Her skin looked pale and clammy. Finally, it hit me: a bite from any zombie, even a chicken zombie, would probably be fatal—well, worse than fatal.

I held my breath, waiting for Kali to reply.

"Yes, I'm here. But please vacate the vicinity immediately. I do not believe I can hold out for long."

"I can't get the truck to budge." We were all hosed, Kali worst of all.

"I've fixed the main nozzle almost straight up and barricaded myself under the spray. But once the tank is empty, I will be exposed."

"Kali, how many birds are there?" Misty pressed the mic up against her lips. "Do you think we can neutralize them?" We looked out the back window where he sat, but we couldn't see anything except gallons upon gallons of juice pouring down.

"Negative. There must be in excess of five hundred birds. And I estimate less than five minutes of pressure remain." We could just hear him over the sound of cascading liquid.

Misty took off her headphone. "Nathan, what do we do?"

I gassed the truck and slammed the transmission from forward to reverse and back, desperate to rock it free. The truck, stuck on the remains of the brick wall, wouldn't shift—even an inch.

"What are we going to do?" she repeated.

I sat looking at her. I wanted to make something up, to say something comforting—anything—but my mind was blank.

Misty jumped and screamed.

A zombie pounded on the passenger window. Its hair matted with dried blood, skin peeling off in layers.

She turned away and slid over next to me. "I think the mister got ripped off when we crashed."

Misty waited for me to reply, but I had nothing. I thought about my parents, my friends, even Misty's brothers. Now I was sure I'd never see them again.

"Nate, in a minute we'll be surrounded." She was grabbing my arm so tight it started tingling.

I sat up straight, looked ahead and tried to ignore the zombies pounding at the window. Slowly, deliberately, I cleared my throat, "Kali, I'm going to make a run for it. We'll use the remaining soda bombs to clear a path, then you jump in the cab. I'll draw the zombies away from the truck and set off the mega bomb. With a little luck, you guys can make a break for it and find some place to hide."

"That's insane," Misty said.

I gripped the steering wheel to keep my hands from shaking.

"Nate, I applaud your bravado. However, the odds of you surviving are infinitesimal."

"You have better idea?" Misty asked.

"Actually, I am calculating one now." The words came softly, barely louder than the sound of rushing water.

My shoulders dropped, like letting the air out of a tire. Though my hands still shook, I figured Kali had something up his sleeve. As annoying as he could be, he really was one wise geek.

A red light flickered on one of the control panel gauges—the main water tank. The gauge read empty.

"Umm, Kali, care to fill us in? We're running out of time," I said.

Static was my only reply.

"Kali, what's the plan?" Misty screamed. She was looking back. Her fingers dug deep into the seat's upholstery.

"Nate, we'll proceed with your original plan, but with one modification." Even through the speaker, I heard how unsteady his voice was.

"One modification? What modification?"

"No time to explain," he said. "As soon as I throw the soda bottle bombs, exit through the passenger door and I'll hand you the mega bomb."

We heard a popping sound—a soda bomb—then a bunch more in quick succession. The zombies that weren't taken out quickly moved away, clearing a path up the street.

Now was the time to test my faith in Kali. I hopped over Misty and opened the door.

"Nate, no! Don't go!" Misty grabbed my t-shirt collar as I jumped out. She pulled and pulled, trying to drag me back in.

The bombs had cleared all the zombies right around the truck. Kali slid the Super Zombie Juice Mega Bomb down the side of the cab. With Misty pulling on my shirt, I couldn't grab it. Though I managed to break its fall. Looking up I saw Kali's head disappear over the side of the truck. Zombie Juice got in my eyes; I had to squint to keep them open.

The juice from the cannon still came out, but spurted a mixture of juice and air. The zombies started taking tentative steps towards the truck. Undead chickens flew overhead. We only had a few more seconds of protection.

"Kali, throw me your misters and get in the cab. Now!" I ordered. Misty pulled so hard the collar ripped off my shirt.

"Sorry, Nate," Kali replied.

"Sorry for—" I tried to look up when Misty's legs clamped around my waist. I felt a sharp thud on my head and everything went black.

I was out cold for a couple seconds. The next thing I knew, Misty had pulled me back in the truck and I was looking out the window at Kali running into a huge crowd of zombies. Misty was screaming his name at the top of her lungs. He didn't acknowledge her cries. He kept running. His personal misters on full-force, but he'd taped them to his head. Birds circled around him; they couldn't get close enough to take a bite.

He ran fast, dodging zombies. Which was amazing, because he carried the five-gallon jug—the Super Zombie Juice Mega Bomb.

"Kali, get back in the truck!" Misty screamed. It was no use. He didn't reply. But I was stunned to hear him singing. Only later did I find out it was a chant to Shiva, the god of transformation.

Misty reached for the door. I put my hand out and grabbed her before she opened it. We couldn't help him. She turned and pressed her face deep into my shoulder.

"What happened?" I asked.

She didn't reply.

Misty couldn't look and I couldn't turn away. Kali stopped at the intersection, maybe fifty feet away, just as the water cannon died. Now the sound of flapping wings was deafening; but I could just make out his chanting.

He pulled the string from the five-gallon zombie bomb and started shaking the thing like mad.

The undead abandoned the truck, all heading toward him. Zombie chickens flew over his head or tried to get in around his feet, like he was being attacked by a cyclone.

A moment later, he plopped down, ripped the misters off and flung them away. Instantly a crush of crazed chickens smothered him.

The zombies closed in, right behind.

Misty looked up—her back still to the window—she stared at me with tears running down her face as she watched the scene play out in my horrified expressions.

Nothing happened. Just when I thought the bomb might be a dud—a massive explosion. The truck rattled. A second later, a shower of water droplets pelted the windows.

Feathers flew everywhere. A blizzard—whiteout conditions.

Misty saw it in my eyes. She knew Kali hadn't escaped. Again, she hugged me and sobbed on my shoulder.

I watched the feathers gently tumble to the ground. The street coated, like newly fallen snow. It looked like a scene from a Christmas movie—except for the chicken and zombie corpses everywhere.

It felt like Christmas, too. I'm a little ashamed to admit, but part of me was happy, no, thrilled.

It was supposed to be me out there, but I was alive. We both lived, at least for now. Kali had given us the ultimate gift.

"Nate, is he—is he alive?"

I didn't know. A shroud of feathers covered him; he wasn't moving, but the remaining zombies still seemed interested.

The survivors had fallen over in the blast, but stood back up, now headed toward him.

"Misty, stay here." I pushed her away and jumped out the door, hitting my foot on a large rock. It had to be what Kali'd hit me over the head with.

The scene looked even more surreal from outside. Feathers everywhere, even covering the few remaining zombies, like sinister snowmen.

I started blasting my gun. Letting loose a stream of words like I'd never used before.

True to form, Misty didn't stay put and stood at my side. Tears stained her cheeks. Her gun firing wildly.

It was a blur. The next thing I knew, no zombies were left standing and we knelt at Kali's side. I took out a rag and wiped the feathers from his face.

We could tell he was still alive. His chest rising and falling in jerks.

"Kali, how bad are you hurt?" I asked with an unsteady voice.

"I'm okay, guys. Did we get all of them?" he whispered.

"Nate, he's been bit all over!"

I looked down at his body, covered in white feathers, speckled with splotches of deep red.

"Yep. You got 'em, even those freak chickens."

"Nate, I'm thirsty," his voice shaky and cracking.

"Okay, buddy. We've got water in the truck."

"No, not water. How about a glass of lemonade?"

"Kali, what are you saying?" Misty's voice was tense as a piano string.

"Hurry, Nate. I'm getting weak—the lemonade."

I think running into the crowd of zombies would have been easier than this. Maybe that's why Kali chucked a rock at my head—he knew he could count on me for this.

I ripped off a small water gun I had taped on my suit and tore off the cap.

"Oh, Nate, don't. Maybe there's something we can do. Maybe—" she stopped.

I put my hand behind Kali's neck and felt a slight burn, probably zombie snot.

Misty took one of his hands and held it to her chest. "You were so brave, Kali, so brave."

My hands didn't shake anymore; they were numb, as if they didn't belong to me. I manipulated them the best I could—like using chopsticks.

Lifting Kali's head, I poured the juice into his mouth until it was gone. He was burning up; his skin felt like it was on fire.

"I never thought I'd have friends, real friends—thank you, guys." He closed his eyes and I felt the muscles in his neck go limp.

Gently, I put his head down and cleaned my blistering hand with the rag. Misty wiped her tears as I put the rag over Kali's face.

"No, thank you, kid."

We sat there still, silent except for the small cries that we both let slip out. Misty, still holding his hand. Me, staring down at my hands, soaked in tears.

I don't know how much time passed. It could have been five minutes; it might have been an hour. Suddenly, the feathers moved, flying in every direction.

Looking up, I saw a helicopter coming down in front of us—one of those big black military ones.

It landed and three men stepped out. They wore protective gear like you see in those alien movies.

I worried a little about what they might have planned for us. I've seen enough movies to know those government types can't be trusted—especially when they're in those protective suits.

"What happened here? How did you manage to negate the virus?" one of the hooded figures asked.

"Zombie juice," I replied.

"Zombie juice?"

"Actually it was the Super Zombie Juice Mega Bomb," Misty added as she stood and took my hand.

Chapter 18 – Home Sweet Home

The government didn't abuse us too badly. They put us in a special containment ward. Grilled us for hours when all we wanted to do was sleep. Seems they couldn't believe that three kids could defeat an army of the undead, when they couldn't even blow up a lousy cemetery without mucking it up.

A lot of their questions centered around Kali. I think they figured he was the brains behind the whole thing (and they weren't too far off).

"Did Kali try mixing any additives to the zombie juice?"

"For the umpteenth time, no."

"Did Kali do any kind of experiments on the reanimated humans?"

"Gross, no way."

Finally, after holding us for three days, they said our quarantine was over, thanked us, and released us to our parents. I think they just finally got tired of asking us the same questions over and over—God knows I was sick of it.

Our parents, along with the rest of the town, had been evacuated. In the case of our dads, by force. They refused to leave while we were missing. I guess it took the better part of a squad to drag them out. Misty's dad even lost a tooth in the scuffle.

Our reunion was exactly like the funeral scene from Tom Sawyer. Our parents cried, and hugged, and smothered us. Except it lasted for all of five minutes—then they grounded us and ordered us never to talk to each other again.

Fortunately, that didn't last long. Our families had to stay in the same roadside motel (everything else was full, because of the evacuation) for a few days while the government cleaned up the mess. Plus, we were heroes. News crews came from everywhere to interview us—together.

Being on TV might have been fun, if we weren't talking about being trapped in town with a horde of killer zombies. Our parents said we didn't have to do any interviews, but we felt like we owed it to Kali.

"Kali was the brains; it was his plan that saved the town and his life that spared ours," we'd say at the end of each one.

I couldn't stop thinking about what had happened. But sometimes, when I was laying in bed unable to sleep, I'd get so ticked at Kali. He had promised me he'd stay in the truck. I was in charge. I should have been the one to set off the bomb. I know it's stupid. I mean, he saved our lives, but sometimes I couldn't help myself.

A local committee met to create a memorial to honor Kali. We met with them and with his parents.

That was the hardest part. Misty had to tell them how I plowed the truck into the crowd of zombies and Kali saved us. I couldn't bring myself to do it. They weren't angry. In fact, they were thankful for all the praise we had given him.

Even though we were no longer fighting for our lives, we'd gone through a rough few days. When I wasn't sleeping, I spent most of my time zoning out on the bed; my body ached for like a week.

"Honey, it's the Secretary of State." Mom put her hands over the phone. "She wants to know if she can talk to Nate."

I didn't pay much attention. I was just trying to find something decent on the hotel TV. Lately, someone self-important was always calling me; usually someone more important than a government secretary.

"No," Dad said without looking up from his work.

"I'm sorry. He's not available...We explained to your assistant, Nate will not be attending."

I glanced over at Mom. Her face scrunched all up as if she was in pain—she wanted to hang up the phone.

"Yes, I understand. I agree Kali deserves the Presidential Medal of Freedom. It's just that...No, but..."

My Dad looked up, frowned, and then picked up the phone on the desk.

"Madam Secretary, this is Nathan's father..." Dad shook his head. "The honor is mine. But I must insist that your office stop calling...These incessant calls are becoming slightly harassing..."

My dad gently hit the phone receiver against his forehead. He wasn't even listening. "I understand. But what I can't seem to get through to your staff is that Nathan is a boy, not an opportunity for political gain..."

Bored, I turned the TV off.

"No, no, I'm sure you didn't. Now that you understand our feelings on the matter, I trust this will be the last call we'll receive from your office. Good day." He slammed down the receiver.

Hanging around the hotel got old fast. So many reporters camped out front we couldn't even sneak out if we wanted to leave. We ate so much Dominos I actually got sick of pizza.

It took several days before they let us back into town. The military types wanted to keep us out longer, but no one in Indian Springs, Greenburg, or Quincy would hear of it. Small town folks don't put up with the government keeping them out of their homes (even with a reason like the possibility of deadly zombies lurking about). They were going back, regardless of what the officials said.

Mom read the paper as we drove. "It quotes an anonymous government official as saying they've confirmed that the paper plant had been dumping chemicals for years. The scientific consensus is that the toxic soup from more than a century of pollution really fouled up the environment."

"Yeah, to the point where it started fighting back—with an army of the undead," I said. I could see them both eye me through the rear view mirror. They got all uptight whenever I mentioned the zombies. Like if we didn't talk about them, they never existed.

After a few seconds of silence, Dad asked, "Did it say anything else?"

Mom hesitated, then continued, "Just that it was inevitable that the river would carry it to Greenberg and Quincy."

"So Kali was right all along," I said.

"You can bet they're going to close the paper plant," Dad added.

"I guess Misty's dad's out of a job."

"I'm afraid so, honey." Mom folded up the paper and stuck it under her seat, putting it completely out of sight.

There was a temporary bridge and a checkpoint setup to get into town. "May I see your IDs, sir?" asked a military guy, who looked even younger than Misty's oldest brother.

My dad held out his driver's license.

"I'll need IDs for your two passengers, as well. Required procedure. I'm sure you understand..." He looked down at Dad's license. "Mr...Lewis? Is that Nathan Lewis? No need for IDs, sir. But could I ask Nathan for his autograph?"

My dad just started driving. The gate thing wasn't even up. We raced toward it like we were going to smash right through it. One of the military guys flopped down on the handle, sending the gate flying up just in time.

That was the only time someone asked for my autograph. I was kinda disappointed. I wanted to sign it, 'Nathan Lewis, Master Zombie Slayer'.

 Being back in town felt strange. We passed the intersection where Kali saved us. No sign of what happened remained, not even a single chicken feather. In the streets, no zombies, only other families returning home. The strangest part? I wasn't driving with Misty sitting next to me, and, of course, Kali wasn't poking his head out between us.

Dad pulled the car into the driveway. I jumped out before the car rolled to a stop and started running for the door.

"What's the hurry?" Mom asked, slightly alarmed.

I'd become so used to having to dash inside it'd become habit. I didn't tell my parents. They were already freaked out about what I'd been through, insisting I talk to a therapist and stuff.

Inside I headed straight to the clothes hamper. Even in quarantine, they'd given us this really scratchy paper hospital underwear—it was high time to get into my own skivvies.

Sure, these technically weren't clean, but compared to what I'd been wearing they were just fine. I grabbed a cleanish-looking pair as I heard my cell ring with a text message. I'd dumped it out of my backpack when we'd stopped by the house that first day. I fished it out of a pile of camping stuff.

 There were two huge messages. Exactly the same, just a bunch of ones and zeroes:

01100011011010110110101001101010011011110110111000100000011010110110001101000001001000000110101001110110011010100011011100101100001000000110110001101110011101000110110001110100001000000011011100110110001011100011001000110011001100100010111000110000001011100011000100111001001100100010000001100101011000100110101001110000

I deleted them and threw my phone down. I'd have to get it checked; I figured it got zombie snot on it or something.

I headed to the bathroom. As I closed the door, I heard a scream.

For a second, I thought Dad stumbled upon an overlooked zombie; then I realized it was much more serious.

"Nathan, where's the Mustang!"

* * * * *

Acknowledgements:

When I started SZJMB, I had no idea it would be three years before it was published. Along the way so many people helped that there's no way I could name them all. But it would be unconscionable to not try. First, my beta readers (all twelve) deserve a big portion of the credit. The kidlit gang at AbsoluteWrite.com not only helped me hone my skills, but more importantly, offered endless encouragement. Many thanks go to my editors: Lisa Hazard, Cara Wallace, and Paula Morrow; my proofreaders Nick at Everything-Indie and Anne Victory; and my writing instructors: Gillian Richardson and Paula Morrow. Paula was not only my instructor and editor: she was like a mentor, showing me not only the rules of writing, but how to break them. Last, I must thank my family, especially my wife, for all the time I took away from them to write and revise this book. To all of you, and countless authors, agents, and friends, I say, thank you.

* * * * *

Bonus Story: Hobgoblin Horror

"I hate the way this place smells," Jake said. Our shoes squeaked as we walked across the linoleum titled floor, down a sterile hallway to the last room on the right.

"Yep, menthol and vitamins, never a good combo."

"This is your fault, Alex. If you weren't so desperate to get close to Shelby Summers we wouldn't have volunteered for old fart duty."

"How was I to know the girls would end up visiting female patients and we'd have to entertain some old geezer?"

We gently knocked on Mr. Fitch's door. "Could be worse. Least we got assigned an interesting old guy," I added.

"Maybe we can get him to tell us another war story." Jake opened the door.

The walls of his room were littered with old black & white photos. On his dresser he had a small case with military medals. Unlike the rest of the center, his room smelled like menthol and cigarettes.

Mr. Fitch was some sort of war hero. That is, before he turned into an old grumpy dude. He once complained the hospital wouldn't let him hang his M1 Garand on the wall.

"Hey, Mr. Fitch," we both said in unison.

Slowly, he turned from the window. "You're late!" He pounded his cane with a loud thud.

If you could just get past his rude, angry exterior, he wasn't half-bad.

"Got any good war stories for us today?" Jake said.

"War stories. I'm not going to fill your little heads with stuff like that. It'll give you nightmares, that's what it'll do."

I hadn't said anything to Jake, but the last time we were here he told us a story, about the Battle of the Bulge, that really did give me nightmares. He was captured by the Germans and well, I don't want to give you nightmares, but they did some pretty awful things.

"You two lunkheads going to sit down or just stand there looking like Mormons?"

"I think you mean morons," Jake said.

"No, I mean Mormons. They're always coming around here being all nice, passing out those Mormon Bibles."

"This is my math book," Jake said.

"Hmm, maybe you are a moron." He shook his head.

Well, today's visit was going well. I hoped Shelby was giving her granny a foot massage—it'd serve her right for tricking me into this.

"Did I tell you boys I had a boil removed last week?"

"Umm, no," I said, shooting a look of horror at Jake.

"Let me show you—" He turned around and grabbed his trousers.

"No, please! That's okay." He stopped, turned and glared at me. I quickly added, "It's just stuff like that makes me a little queasy."

"You mean blood? Why, you should have seen it on D-day the whole shore turned red."

"No, it's more sores on old guys' rears that make me want to puke," I whispered to Jake.

The three of us sat and talked about nothing in particular. Mostly we just listened to Fitch tell us how lazy kids are today. Jake kept checking his watch. He claimed it was a Rolex—I think it was a fake. Either way, it never left his wrist.

"So, what are you two dressing up as for Halloween?" he asked. "Let me guess, pimps or gangbangers. Isn't that what you kids are into today?"

"I'm going as Iron Man," Jake said.

"You mean a guy in an iron lung?" Mr. Fitch looked Jake in the eye. "That's just sick."

"I know, isn't it!" Jake said, bouncing up in his chair.

It looked like Mr. Fitch was thinking about taking a whack at him, so I cut in. "I'm going as a monster."

"What sort of monster? Not one of those comic book villains, I hope."

"No one reads comics anymore," Jake said.

I didn't mention that I still picked up the latest Punisher when I had enough spare cash. Jake just couldn't read well enough to get into them.

"No, just your standard evil monster. Going to paint my face green, get some fake scars, and lots of blood. It should gross the girls out."

"Sounds like a goblin. Did I ever tell you about the time I fought off a goblin?"

Oh, we had to hear this. "You mean an actual goblin?" Mr. Fitch sometimes made up inappropriate names to refer to Germans, Japanese, and anyone else that had fought against, or in his eyes, somehow offended the U.S.

"Well, a hobgoblin. Don't think there's no real goblins left. But don't be fooled by their size; a hobgoblin's one fierce creature."

"Do tell." Jake was already on the edge of his seat, hands folded in his lap, like some sort of preacher's pet listening eagerly in Sunday school.

"It was right around Operation Market Garden. Montgomery had just about everyone tied up in the offensive. Those of us in Eastern France were spread thin and under supplied. A buddy and I, Smith—Second Lieutenant Daryl Smith was his name. We were stationed way back in the hills outside the nearest city. The brass was worried the Krauts might cause trouble up there." He stood up. "Did I ever tell you about the Werwolfs?"

"No, but I want to hear about the goblin, not about people turning into dogs," Steve scowled.

"The Werwolfs were dogs all right, but I'll tell you about them another time." Fitch scanned down the hall, then closed his door. He sat by the open window, got out a little flat pouch of tobacco and started rolling a cigarette.

"Smith and I had leave, just a day off really, but it took a whole day to get into town. So we decided to go look for some spoils of war."

"What are spoils of war?" I asked.

"To the victor goes the spoils. In war, the winner gets to take whatever they want. We just had to fill out a form and we could take just about anything back home. Some of the guys even brought back wives—poor fools."

"You mean you could walk up to someone and just take whatever they had?" Jake asked.

"No, no. Least, not from the French. Though I once saw a GI, just a private too, rip an Iron Cross right off an SS officer's neck. Made me smile." He reached down under his mattress, pulled out a metal lighter, lit up his cigarette, and as he put it to his lips, his mouth turned up in a twisted, weather-beaten smirk.

We sat quietly while he took a couple deep puffs.

"When they retreated, the Germans tried to carry off as much as they could. But they ended up ditching a lot of the stuff. They'd burn it, or dump it in the bushes off the side of a road."

Jake and I sat there looking into his leathery wrinkled face like he was some sort of mad god. He'd seen more in his life than everyone else I knew put together.

"We were way back in the hills. I was a little worried myself. You never knew when you'd run into some Germans. We hadn't found a thing and I wanted to head back, so we could make it in time to grab a few pints."

Mr. Fitch broke into a nasty coughing spell. Jake looked over at me. These things were violent. Each time it was like rolling dice to see if he'd just fall over dead. I hoped I wouldn't be around the day he finally rolled craps.

"Maybe you should give up smoking," I said.

He looked at me, then down to his cane, and back into my eyes. Sure, he was like 100 or something, but he was a tough old fart. If he ever came at me with that cane, no question: I'd run.

"Smith wouldn't leave." He flicked the ash of his cigarette onto the floor. "Always listen to your gut—you kids remember that. Smith kept saying, 'I've got this feeling; something's out there, just waiting for me to find it.' It's just too bad..."  Mr. Fitch took a long drag, then put his cigarette out. "—turned out he was right." He looked at his pouch like he was considering rolling another, but folded it up and put it away.

"Sure enough, a little way off the main path, we saw something sparkling. Smith ran over and snatched it up; a gold ring. 'See, I told you,' Smith bragged as he started walking back into the bushes." Fitch leaned in towards us and his face darkened.

"Now I had a feeling in my gut too. I said, 'Come on, let's go. What if we run into some Jerries out here?'" He ignored me and disappeared into the brush.

"I was about to head back without him, when I heard a scream. It was a blood-curdling, begging scream. The kind a man only makes when he's dying. It's something that you'll never forget once you hear." He closed his eyes like he was trying to block out the sound.

"I ran through the brush as quickly as I could. When I got to the clearing, my heart stopped. Blood littered the ground and there was this little monster, at most maybe three and a half feet high. He had a small wooden spear, with a long metal tip, sharp as a razor. I don't even know how to describe what he did to Smith. Ribbons, just a pile of ribbons, like discarded bows on Christmas morning.

"I got out my sidearm and shot at him. But the little bugger was fast. He ducked and I just winged him. I tried to fire again, but my gun stove-piped."

"What's that?" Jake asked.

"It jammed. It only took a second to clear, but he was gone."

"No way. I don't believe it," I said.

"Neither did I, at first. Kept telling myself I'd imagined it, that Smith'd gone AWOL. But you see, hobgoblins hold a grudge. They'll stalk a man just for catching a glimpse of them. You can imagine how ticked this little toad was at being shot at."

"Did you kill it?" Jake asked.

"Heck no. Hobgoblins are magic. That's why no one ever sees one, or at least no one lives to tell about it."

"That's a great story, Mr. Fitch. I think you might be getting a little senile, but still a great story," I said.

"If you were a year older I'd whup your butt."

"You'd beat me up if I was 15?"

He didn't take his eyes off me, but reached into his pocket, pulled out his tobacco pouch and started rolling another cigarette.

"You know, for a little turd, you're okay."

Coming from him, that was almost a compliment.

"But that's not the end of the story. Lord, I wish it were. That mini-monster followed me all the way back to Kansas. Kept trying to get me alone. That's how they do it. They get you alone and then rip you to shreds."

"Couldn't you have killed it? I mean, when you were younger?"

"Not a chance, not by myself. These things are quick enough to dodge a bullet, and vicious. Plus they use magic. Maybe with a few buddies we could have taken him, never by myself." He shuffled his feet nervously.

"But I never had any buddies. Anytime I'd get to know someone, he'd take them out." He looked down and for a second, I thought I saw something other than anger in those eyes.

"But you're always alone when we come to visit. Why doesn't he just get you in your sleep?"

"He's not going to come waltzing in here. No, goblins are afraid of civilization. Sure, they'll wait just off a lonely stretch of road, or the edge of a park. But they're too terrified of being seen or caught. That's why you don't catch me out taking walks with the others."

"I figured they just didn't like being berated."

Mr. Fitch puffed away, ignoring me.

"Sixty-two years I've stayed one step ahead of him. Occasionally, I've spotted him out of the corner of my eye. But you want me to tell yah how I really know he's still after me?" We both nodded. "He leaves bits and pieces of Smith for me to find."

"Gross, like body parts?" Jake yelled.

"No, nothing like that, not anymore. Usually just a piece of his uniform: some fabric, a pin, maybe a button. I haven't heard from him in a of couple years. Maybe he's given up and is looking for someone else to torment." He stared out the window silently before tossing the butt of his cigarette, right as a nurse came in. "Just can't chance it."

She sniffed the air. "Mr. Fitch, have you been smoking again?" She put a hand on her hip as she sat down a stack of sheets.

"Me, no. It was these two hooligans. I told them it wasn't allowed. It was reefer, I think." Jake and I looked at each other, speechless.

"Don't worry, boys. We know all about Mr. Fitch's imagination." She walked over and closed the window. "It's probably time for you two to be going, though."

We both jumped out of our chairs. "Can you sign our volunteer card?"

"Sure," she said, taking our papers.

"Be sure to put on there that they were high on the pot."

The nurse rolled her eyes. "Come on, Mr. Fitch. It's time for dinner."

We walked out.

"What about my sponge bath?" we heard him say as we walked away.

"You believe that old fool thought we'd buy that rubbish?" Jake said, kicking a rock as we walked along the dirt path next to the road. We had a good mile hike back to my house.

"Just some story he made up to explain why he doesn't have any friends."

We'd only been walking a few minutes, when Jake suddenly plopped down on the ground.

"What the heck?" I said.

"It's a fiver. I found a five-dollar bill."

"Cool," I said, thinking how it could have easily been me who spotted it. "Come on, I bet we're late. What time is it?" I asked.

"Wait just a sec." Jake walked over to the bushes along the side of the road. "Look, a twenty —finders keepers," he sang.

"No way."

"Hey, there's a path back here. I wonder if there's any more."

Something wasn't right. My stomach started knotting up like a pretzel. I remembered what Fitch had told us about trusting your gut. "I don't think this is such a good idea. Let's get going."

"What? There could be a whole stash back there!"

"Remember what Mr. Fitch said."

Jake laughed at me. "That old coot? You believe that bull? Come on. I'll share anything else we find."

He disappeared into a thick wall of bushes. "Jake, come on—"

A scream pierced the air. Instantly, I knew it was the same sound Smith had made all those years ago. I fought the urge to throw up.

I wanted to run, get away. But another desperate scream rang out and I knew I couldn't leave Jake. I grabbed a huge dead tree branch and plowed through the bushes.

He was already fleeing but I caught a glimpse: small, pale green, misshapen. Looking down, I saw this huge patch of ivy all covered in red, gooey blood. Jake wasn't anywhere to be seen. I threw up.

"Jake!" I yelled as I started walking backwards.

I walked to the edge of the road. It took me a minute, but I found my voice and hollered for him several more times. My whole body shook as I waited for a reply. Nothing.

I felt bad leaving, but Jake wasn't there anymore. He probably wasn't anywhere anymore.

I walked home in the middle of the street, only moving to the edge when cars came by.

I wasn't sure what to tell my parents. I was still shaking; they'd know something was wrong.

Turned out no one was home. I'd have to go around back to get the spare key.

I started around and hesitated. Our house backed to a greenbelt, overgrown and wild, just the sort of place a hobgoblin would find homey. I thought about waiting on the porch for Mom and Dad, but the light was fading and they'd probably be out for hours.

I kept my eyes down as I ran around back. I reached into the flowerpot for the spare key, but something else was there too. I took it out. Instantly, I knew what it was.

I dropped it and gasped in horror.

Jake's wristwatch, and like I said, it never left his wrist.

> * * * * *  
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Bonus Story: Bloody Marcy

"That's soo stupid," I tell them.

"No, it'll be totally funny 'cause Marcy's such a chicken," insists Amber.

"Shelby'll do it. She's cool." Hanna smiles at me.

"Yeah, I'm cool," I say, knowing this might be my only shot to get in with the popular crowd.

"Good, here's you're blood." Amber discreetly hands me a small tube of fake blood. She turns and yells, "Who's up for a game of Bloody Mary?"

Amber's the most popular girl at Evergreen Jr. High. She's blond, gorgeous, and rich. Her parents just built this brand new, three-story house with this huge game room on the top floor.

"Aww that game's stupid." Marcy glances over to the bathroom.

"You aren't chicken, are you?" Amber asks.

"No, I've played it before. It's stupid. I've never seen anything."

"Well, then you won't mind playing it again, will you?" says Hanna.

Marcy looks down and doesn't say anything.

"Who's first?" Amber asks, holding up a flashlight.

"I am," Tiffany says, throwing her long curly brown hair back. "I just don't remember how it goes."

"Okay, here's how you do it." Amber rubs her hands together. I think she's overly excited at the prospect of her practical joke. "Go into the bathroom and close the door. Turn the light off and say, 'Bloody Mary, I killed your baby' thirteen times. Then shine the flashlight into the mirror and you'll see Bloody Mary!"

Tiffany takes the flashlight and heads into the bathroom. Through the crack under the door, we can see the light go out. A minute later, there's a little scream and she jumps out. "I saw her—at least I think I did. It was so fast, I'm not sure."

One by one, each of the girls take a turn. Hanna and Amber both scream at the top of their lungs when it's their turn—they swear they saw her bloody face staring back at them.

Finally, only Marcy and I are left. "I'll go first," I say. Not sure if I'm dreading my turn or Marcy's more.

I go into the bathroom and look at the mirror. It's oval and has a gold-tone frame, like the evil mirror from Snow White or something. A little spooked, I flip off the light. It's really not that dark. There's a big window on the far wall; light from the streetlight streams right in through the blinds.

Under my breath, I say the stupid chant once and then wait a minute before turning on the flashlight. It reflects off the glass and into my eyes. I'm blinded for a second and can't really see anything.

I open the door, half expecting them to have pulled the gag on me. But the girls look normal, except some of them are giggling—probably because they know it's finally Marcy's turn.

"Well?" Amber asks.

I blink my eyes a couple of times trying to make the spots disappear. "Umm, guess I might have seen her."

Amber and Hanna have already moved on. "Your turn Marcy," they crow in unison.

"All right. This is dumb, though." Marcy grabs the flashlight out of my hand and storms into the bathroom.

All the girls get out their tubes of fake blood. Amber motions for everyone to wait. "Marcy, I can see the light on."

A second later, the bathroom light clicks off and all the girls start smearing fake blood on their faces. I can't believe how ridiculous they all look. It looks more like fruit punch than blood.

Hanna nudges me and looks down at the tube, still unopened in my hand. I flash her a fake smile and start dabbing it on my face.

A second later, I see the beam of the flashlight peeking out of the crack under the door. All the girls are trying not to laugh and the bathroom door slowly starts to open.

By the time Marcy opens the door, Amber's turned off the lights in the room.

All we can see of Marcy is her flashlight, shining in our faces. Everyone starts busting up laughing, then there's a loud, continuous scream and everyone stops.

I see the beam of the flashlight moving backwards, like the headlights of a car, except speeding away. There's a loud crash of breaking glass. The flashlight drops, disappearing out through the window. There's a sickening thud—the screaming stops.

In the window, the blinds are ripped away. The streetlight pours into the bathroom. Shards of glass covered in oozing blood are all that remains in the window.

* * * * *

If you enjoyed these bonus stories, consider downloading MJ's Monster Mashup Short Story Omnibus, available for only 99¢ at: www.MJAWare.com.

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About the Author:  
M.J.A. Ware, known as M.J. to his friends, lives in the foothills of the Sierra Mountains with his wife and two daughters. When not writing about aliens, monsters and ghosts, he runs a company where he designs award winning video arcades. He's currently polishing his latest novel, Girls Bite, a paranormal vampire story told from a guy's perspective. He loves to hear from readers and can be reached at mikejware@gmail.com.

On his website (http://www.MJAWare.com) you'll find free short stories. You can sign up for MJ's monthly mailing list, which will entitle you to free newsletter only stories. Plus, you'll be notified when new books are released.
