Finally, they were back on Zack’s, Rice’s, and Zoe’s home turf.
For more than two hours, Ozzie had steered the tank through the desert night, waxing autobiographical. Zack had met Ozzie only a few hours ago, and he already knew the kid’s entire life story.
Martial arts training. Jungle safaris. Scuba diving. He could drive a tank. He knew kung fu. What else was there? Could he fly a plane? Zack wondered if he could fly without a plane. It seemed possible if he had a little superhero cape.
The tank rumbled to a stop next to a yellow sign that warned: SLOW! CHILDREN AT PLAY.
They climbed out of the tank and hopped down in the crosswalk. At the end of the street, a curtain of shadow dropped down the front of Romero Middle School as the sun rose over the horizon.
Everything seemed fine. The parking lot was full of minivans, as neat and pretty as a car dealership. The flower beds and bushes lay untrampled in the bird-chirping quiet. The exterior of the school was intact except for a single broken window and the burnt-rubber tread marks of a getaway van. The tire tracks swerved across the lawn. Maybe Rice’s parents actually got away, Zack thought. Or were the Rices devouring Zack’s mom and dad this very instant?
“Mom!” Zack shouted as they approached the school building.
“Dad!” Zoe called.
“Arf!” Twinkles barked.
Ozzie breathed deeply through his nose. “I love the smell of zombies in the morning.”
The five of them cast long shadows on the stone steps as they reached the main entrance. They cupped their hands against the window glass, staring inside the lobby of the school.
WHAM!
A putrid zombie arm shot straight through the windowpane, grabbing Rice by his pock-speckled face. It was Senora Gonzalez, their Spanish teacher. The senora reached through the armhole of jagged shards.
“AHHHHHHH!” Rice jumped back, and his glasses fell on the cement step. “I can’t see!” He squinted, grabbing at the air in front of him like a zombie.
Senora Zomzalez glared at Rice with a wild-eyed scowl. “Adios, Arroz!” the zombie gurgled moistly. Its grunts steamed up the window as it tried to gnaw through the pane of glass.
Zack picked up his buddy’s glasses, and Rice put them back on. “Aw, man, they got a crack.” Rice shook his finger at his former teacher. “No es bueno, Senora G. Es muy mal.”
“If we go in there, we’re gonna need to find some weapons first,” Ozzie told them.
“What about the equipment room off the soccer field?” Zack suggested.
“It’s probably locked.” Rice pouted.
“Locks are not a problem,” Ozzie said casually, and so they hustled around to the back of the school.
Across the football field, two zombie lacrosse players were hobbling around, cradling eyeballs in the pockets of their sticks and whipping them at each other four at a time.
“Ewww!” Zoe shrieked.
“Shhhh!” Rice shushed her to a whisper. “Zack, will you please tell your sister the first rule of zombies?”
“Don’t let the zombies bite you, Zo,” Zack said. “Oh, wait, you already did!”
“No, the other rule…” Rice waited, but Zack stared at him blankly.
“Zombies are attracted to sound, bro.”
“That’s not a rule, that’s a fact,” Zoe said. “You don’t know anything about zombies. I, on the other hand, have firsthand experience.”
“Be quiet!” Ozzie said as they reached the red double doors of the equipment room. He pulled out a thin metal tool from his pack. “This’ll just take a minute.”
Zack sighed and glanced out across the other sports fields in back of the school. A headless soccer player juggled its missing noggin like a ball. The zombie planted its weak foot and blasted a shot on goal. The decapitated head rocketed off the cleat and doinked the crossbar. It wobbled to a stop on the goal line, and the body crumpled on the damp morning grass. No goal.
“Uhh, Rice? I thought you said they die if you cut their heads off,”
Zack said.
“Errr, I—I can’t explain that one.” Rice stuttered a little. “That’s just weird.” A few minutes later, Zoe tapped her foot and checked an invisible watch on her wrist. Rice yawned. It was way past his sleepytime.
Just then, a low guttural growl gurgled behind them. They turned to see the headless sportsman dribbling its decapitated noggin between its cleats. All of a sudden, the beheaded ghoul chipped its noggin up off the grass. “Blurgle-dahrgh!” The decapitated zombie head lobbed high in the air, heading right toward them, biting its own tongue over and over as it soared overhead.
“Ewww, hurry!” screeched Zoe.
“Got it!” Ozzie cracked the lock.
The door popped open, and Ozzie scurried into the equipment room.
“Get in!” Zack shooed Rice, Zoe, and Twinkles inside, then dove in after them and slammed the door shut.
Zack heard a juicy thud as the flying noggin smacked outside the equipment room and dropped to the ground with a snarl.
Zack flipped the light switch on. The room was zombie free.
“Listen,” said Zoe, gazing at the ceiling.
Tortured moans and zombie howls echoed through the air vents.
“Mom and Dad are up there,” Zoe said solemnly.
“Come on, guys,” Zack said. “We need to get moving,”
They gathered supplies and geared up for the coming battle.
Rice and Zack fitted each other with football shoulder pads and baseball catcher’s vests. Zack uncapped a little tin of baseball grease and wiped a black smudge under each eye. Next, he went over to a wooden barrel filled with assorted baseball bats and picked out a gleaming aluminum Slugger. It was officially his weapon of choice.
Rice put on a lacrosse helmet. “Who am I?” he asked. “‘Zack, blaah, I hate you, blaah, I’m gonna eat you, blaahhhhhh.’” He pointed at Zoe and laughed. “I’m you!”
Zoe unsheathed a hockey stick from another barrel and whapped Rice hard on his helmeted head.
“Guys, get serious,” Ozzie said. He was wearing elbow pads and strapping multiple shin-guards around each calf.
Zack held up two football helmets. He put one on and tossed the other to Ozzie.
“No need,” he said. “But thanks.”
“Suit yourself.” Zack practiced his batter’s stance.
Twinkles sniffed a crusty pair of forgotten socks in a dusty corner.
Ozzie pulled a batter’s glove onto each hand and grabbed a field hockey stick. Zoe put on a fresh pair of soccer goalie gloves, clapping her new mitts together. She hopped back in a funny stance like a fighting Irishman and socked Zack in the helmet as hard as she could.
“Oww!” he yelped.
“Put up your dukes, dork!”
“Zoe, knock it off!”
“Wrong choice of words, Broseph.” She punched him again, and his head snapped back. “Hah! Fun-ness.”
On the other side of the room, Rice picked up a red-and-white plastic bullhorn from a box and attached it to his pack. Zack shot his friend a wary glance. “What?” Rice asked. “It might come in handy.”
“You know you have a history with those things….”
“They’re fun,” Rice said innocently. “I mean, useful.”
“You guys ready to roll?” Ozzie asked.
“One second.” Rice finished putting on some knee-pads and grabbed a field hockey stick for himself.
All of a sudden, Zoe shrieked.
She was standing in front of a mirror for the first time since her unzombification. “Eeee-you,” she said quietly, inspecting her reflection. “How can you even look at me? I’m hideous!” Tears streamed down her horrified face.
Zack, Rice, and Ozzie looked at one another and shrugged.
Zoe sniffled and stared off into space. “Someone better tell me I’m beautiful before I pass out,” she said.
Nobody peeped.
“Quick, I’m feeling faint.”
“Uh,” Zack said, “you’re…beautiful?”
“Yeah, Zoe,” Rice said. “You, you’re the prettiest.”
“LIARS!” Zoe screeched. “You liars make me sick.” She pinched and prodded her crusty, curdled face and then took a deep breath. “As long as Ozzie knows that I’m usually way cuter than this…” Then she found a hockey helmet with a tinted visor and put it on to hide her hideousness from the world.
And just like that, they rolled out of the equipment room to rescue Mr. and Mrs. Clarke.
Either that or go clock them in the head.