Zombies! by R. McGeddon

Author:R. McGeddon
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781250090850
Publisher: Imprint

* * *

How a Zombie Virus Spreads

1. Zombie bites

2. Zombie sneezes

3. Zombie kisses (don’t ask)

4. You know when a zombie explodes and a little bit gets in your mouth and you’re all, like, “Eww, that was disgusting. I’m going to throw up”? That.

* * *

Let us journey back in time now, my friends. Back to a time before man had set foot upon the Earth, when dinosaurs roamed and the planet’s crust was a shifting mass of inhospitable molten rock.

Then let us journey forward in time again. Forward to a time when Emmie had just left Sam’s house, and the planet’s crust was largely quite nice, depending on whom you asked.

Emmie wasn’t happy. Given the morning’s events, that wasn’t entirely surprising, I suppose—but it wasn’t the zombies who had made her unhappy. It was Sam and the others.

Don’t get me wrong—even though she had enjoyed slapping Phoebe across the face, she was delighted to be away from her. She was quite annoyed at Sam and Arty, though, who seemed to be taking this whole legions-of-the-living-dead thing a bit too seriously, if you asked her.

It was only a few zombies, and she didn’t quite see what the big deal was. The army was probably already gathered at the Town Hall, where the rest of Sitting Duck would all be sitting down to a nice cup of tea and some cake.

Zombies, she thought. A-Lot-of-Fuss-About-Nothing-ies, more like.

Still, she figured it might not be a bad idea to grab her baseball bat from her garden, just in case she came across any flesh-eaters on the way to the Town Hall and had to batter their heads in for them.

Great-Aunt Doris was peering down at her from an upstairs window when Emmie vaulted over the fence and into her garden. Emmie gave her a quick wave and picked up the bat from where she’d left it lying on the grass. Her schoolbag was there, too, right where she’d abandoned it yesterday. She opened it, tipped out the books, and swung the straps over her shoulders.

“Oi!” hissed Doris, opening the window just a crack. “You dead?”

“What?”

“I said, you dead?”

Emmie shook her head. “Not that I’ve noticed.”

Doris tutted. “More’s the pity.” She scowled. Then she slammed the window and swished the curtains closed.

Emmie watched the window for a few seconds, shrugged, and made for the front gate. A savage roar erupted from one garden over, followed by the high-speed whine of an electric weed trimmer.

Mr. Stringer, one of Great-Aunt Doris’s neighbors, was racing along his garden path, holding the trimmer out in front of him like a jousting lance. Emmie wasn’t sure what Mr. Stringer did for a living, but she suspected it had something to do with numbers, filing cabinets, or the color gray. He just had that sort of look about him. Normally.

Today he looked rather different. The mud-brown tie he usually had neatly fastened around his neck was now knotted around his head. His normally crisply pressed shirt was creased and bloodstained, and he had completely forgotten to put his pants on.

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