Zombiekins 2(15)

“In that case,” Miranda said, “I guess we just better hope we find Zombiekins before this gets any worse. . . .”





23



THE PLAYGROUND OF DEMENTEDYVILLE ELEMENTARY at a few minutes before noon was a quiet, peaceful place, where squirrels darted to and fro across the pavement and butterflies fluttered lazily in the midday sun.

That is, until the recess bell rang.

Then the squirrels took to the trees, the butterflies dipsy-doodled it out of there for all they were worth, and all along the neighboring street little old ladies puttering in rose gardens dropped their pruning shears and hurried indoors to safety.

Because the first peal of the recess bell touched off a rumbling inside the school that rose and swelled like a gathering flood....

. . . Until all at once a tidal wave of children burst into the yard, pouring from all the doors and spilling out of windows. Suddenly the air was loud with the joyful sounds of children laughing, children singing, children shouting rude names as they raced to be the first to claim the foursquare courts and swings and the topmost branches of the tree nobody was supposed to climb in.

Over at the tetherball court, a freckly-faced boy and a tall girl with braces arrived together and grabbed the ball at the same instant.

“I was first,” said the freckly-faced boy, with a tug.

“No, I was first,” said the tall girl, with a yank.

Behind them, a line was already forming; kids were pushing and shoving to get closer to the front.

But then a shadow falling across the tetherball court made everyone look up. . . .





The kids in line stopped jostling and stared with frightened eyes. . . . The tall girl let the tetherball slip through her hands and stepped back, shaking. . . . The freckly-faced boy let go too and backed away, quaking. . . .

It was a pack of sixth graders—they always traveled in packs—and just the sight of them was enough to send the younger kids scurrying for cover. The boys wore black T-shirts, dark hoodies and permanent sneers, and their hair was an open rebellion against society and interfering mothers. The girls had improbable hair colors and makeup plastered on so thick they looked like ghoulish figures from a wax museum. Next to the kindergarteners, they were the scariest kids in the school.





One by one, all the children in line disappeared—except for one girl from third grade, who shuffled ahead as the line melted away until finally she stepped up and took hold of the tetherball.





“Hey, kid, are you blind or something?” said a sixth grader who looked like a gorilla. “We’re playing with that.”

“Yeah, twerp, are you deaf or something?” said another sixth grader who smelled like a baboon. “Beat it.”





The girl turned slowly and stiffly to face them. It was Mackenzie. She growled from deep in her throat, like a dog: “Grrrrrrrrrrrrr . . .”





Gorilla Face and his friend with the baboon-fresh scent halted, like they didn’t want to get any closer. But a couple of their classmates piped up behind them:

“Go play on the swings, pip-squeak,” said a girl with blood-red fingernails.

“Yeah, go build a sand castle for your dollies, shrimp,” said another girl with vampire-bat-black lips.

They shoved the boys from their class forward into Mackenzie—

And like a cornered animal, she snarled and lunged back at them.

“Ow! She bit me!” yelped Gorilla Face. “Great, now I’ll probably have to get shots!”





24



“ALL I’M SAYING IS, SOMETHING BAD MUST’VE happened to Knuckles,” Stanley said, lining up a free throw under the basketball net. “You know he wouldn’t miss dodgeball for anything.”

“Stanley, I’m telling you, this is all just some kind of game,” Miranda said. “Zombiekins is still just a toy. Sure, it turns kids into zombies—but it wouldn’t actually hurt them.”

A burst of screaming from the direction of the tetherball court made Stanley flinch. His shot never reached the backboard.

“Oh, yeah?” Stanley said. “Look what it did to Felicity. . . .”

“I don’t know,” said Miranda. “In some ways it’s an improvement. . . . ”





“Yeah, but that’s just from one little bite,” Stanley said. “What if Knuckles didn’t get away so easily? What if . . .” Stanley added, lowering his voice, “. . . he didn’t get away at all?”

“Oh, stop letting your imagination get so carried away,” Miranda scoffed.

Stanley aimed his next shot—but just as he was launching it, a bunch of kids ran in front of him, and the ball slipped from his hands in a weak arcing lob.