2

Zombie

‘Argh!’ I jump backwards into Chets as Katja screams.

There is a man outside. He’s wearing a torn polo shirt with the Crater Lake logo on it. His jeans are dirty and shredded. He’s bleeding from at least six different places that I can see, the worst injury being a gash across the side of his head. As I watch, a fresh gush of blood trickles quickly down his face. I’ve witnessed a lot of nasty stuff in my life, but I’ve never seen something bleed like that before.

Aside from the blood, the bruises, and the clothes that look like they’ve been lawn-mowered, the most horrible thing about him is his eyes. They’re bright red and swollen, and the skin around them is purpley-black. It sags off his face like a half-deflated bouncy castle from some kind of sick Halloween party. The guy is messed up.

‘Zombie!’ Chets shouts and the chaos of the crash that almost happened seems like a flipping tea party compared to what happens next.

Half the class screams and panics, trying to grab their most precious possessions, before realising all they have with them is junk because it’s a school trip and you aren’t allowed to bring your decent stuff, and hiding under their seats instead. The other half of the class bulldoze towards my bit of window in excitement, desperately trying to see the Crater Lake zombie before the teachers pull us away for our own ‘protection’, like they’d be able to save us from a zombie apocalypse.

‘I don’t think he’s a zombie,’ I say. ‘If he was a zombie, he would have eaten people, and there are no bits of intestines between his teeth.’

‘You’re right, Lance,’ Katja says. ‘He actually has very nice teeth. I think he’s just hurt. Maybe we ran him over.’

‘I didn’t feel us hit anything, and I reckon he’d be way more broken if we had,’ says Big Mak. ‘This coach must weigh at least ten tonnes. If we’d hit him, he’d be splattered all over the floor.’

‘Someone really ought to go and help him.’ Adrianne pushes through the kids towards the teachers. ‘That man needs first aid, urgently.’

‘Dale. His name’s Dale,’ Katja says.

‘I always knew Katja was a witch,’ Trent whoops. ‘She has those creepy eyes that can obviously see in the dark. And now we know she can read minds.’

‘Shut-up, Trent, you idiot.’ I turn on him, wanting so much to punch him in his nasty mouth. ‘Katja’s not a witch. It says Dale on his name badge.’

At last, the teachers get the balls to open the coach door and go outside. Dale is staggering around, his eyes half closed. He’s practically unconscious when Mr Tomkins approaches him.

‘Dale? Are you OK, mate?’

Obviously Dale is not OK, but Mr Tomkins is an alright guy, so I’ll let it pass.

Dale doesn’t respond.

‘Dale? Why don’t you come to the side of the road? We can lay you down while we get help.’

‘NO!’ Dale suddenly comes to life. ‘Need water!’

‘Can someone pass me some water for him?’ Mr Tomkins calls.

‘Bears!’ Dale shouts, grabbing Mr Tomkins with his crusty hands. He smears blood and some kind of green mush all over the pink T-shirt Mr Tomkins wears for every mufti school event cos he thinks it’s really trendy.

‘Calm down, Dale. You’re hurt, you’ve had a bump on the head.’

‘Get on the coach, turn around. Get us away!’ Dale is ranting and swaying. ‘They’ll get us if we stay here. They’ll get us all.’

Finally he loses his battle with sanity-slash-consciousness and keels over in the road, dropping like Santa’s sack at the end of his Christmas Eve deliveries. Miss Rani runs out with a towel to put under his head. He flaps his hands around weakly and looks like he might try to get up, but at last he goes limp and still.

‘Like a rotting goldfish,’ I say, as Mr Tomkins starts to cover him with a blanket.

‘OMG, he’s dead!’ Atul shouts.

‘I don’t think he’s dead. Probably just passed out from blood loss or shock.’ Big Mak seems strangely knowledgeable about life-threatening injuries.

‘Or he has concussion,’ says Adrianne.

‘I hope he’s not dead,’ Katja says, rubbing the grimy window with her sleeve to try and see more clearly. ‘No, look. Mr Tomkins hasn’t covered his head. They always put the blanket over the face if they’re dead.’

‘If he isn’t dead,’ I say, ‘he soon will be with that blanket over him. It’s about a million degrees today. Poor guy.’

We watch as the adults, who supposedly know exactly what they’re doing in situations like this, have a worried chat amongst themselves. Finally, Hoche gets back on the coach.

‘Right, children – it’s your lucky day. You get to start your Crater Lake adventure early!’

‘Is the dead guy part of the experience?’ Big Mak asks.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Maksym. The chap outside has just had a bit of a bump on the head, so he’s having a lie down while he waits for some medical attention. He’s perfectly fine.’

We look through the blood-smeared window at half-dead zombie, Dale. Miss Hoche really does talk a load of garbage.

‘The driver is going to wait with him, and we’re going the rest of the way to the activity centre on foot. With the luggage. It will be like a cross-country hike.’

Of course everyone groans. It’s too hot to move, let alone drag our massive bags down a gravelly road.

Ten minutes later, we’re walking down the road in twos, loaded down with masses of stuff.

‘See you in a few days,’ Miss Hoche calls to the driver. ‘We’ll call for help as soon as we get to a landline.’

‘Have fun, kids,’ the driver nods to us, sweat dripping off his nose.

‘Eyes forward, please, children,’ Hoche says as we pass not-dead Dale and his blood-spattered section of the road. ‘Aren’t we fortunate to be surrounded by such beautiful countryside, and on such a lovely day.’

‘Not such a lovely day for Dale.’ Katja looks at him sadly.

‘How far do you think it is?’ Chets asks, looking around nervously. ‘Do you think there are bandits in the woods?’

Big Mak, Katja and I burst out laughing.

‘What is it? What’s funny?’

‘Only you would use the word “bandits”, Chets,’ Mak says.

‘I don’t think there are any bandits outside of the Wild Wild West,’ I say, pushing the strap on my backpack further up my shoulder cos it’s starting to dig in.

‘Well, someone attacked that guy,’ Chets says.

‘And did you hear what he was saying to Mr Tomkins?’ says Katja. ‘All that stuff about having to turn back or they’ll get us all.’

‘He might have been hallucinating – heat exhaustion or the bang on the head.’ Big Mak is the only one of us apparently not struggling with his bags. I swear he’s part giant.

‘Maybe he was mugged,’ Katja says.

‘I don’t think so. Muggers lurk in dark alleys or park bushes. They don’t hang out in the woods. They have to stay near the fried-chicken shops because that’s where they get their food.’

Chets says this with a completely straight face. This is why we love him.

We laugh so hard.

‘So we’ve ruled out zombies and muggers,’ I say. ‘What’s left? Badgers with a vendetta?’

‘Orcs,’ says Mak.

‘Tree monsters,’ says Katja.

‘Alien body-snatchers,’ I joke and even Chets laughs this time. ‘You were probably right the first time, Chets. It’ll be those pesky bandits. We’d better get to this cruddy activity centre and call the sheriff.’

As we trudge round the corner I see the looming gates of Crater Lake, starkly black against the clear blue sky.