GRANDMA? Part 1 (YA Zombie Serial Novel) Read online

  Grandma was still roaring, and I snuck a quick look behind me and saw she was doing a bear crawl up the stairs, just a few feet away. I freaked out so badly that I tripped on the steps, falling onto my chest. I turned quickly around, the stairs poking my back, and Grandma's mouth went straight to my neck.

  She bit down.

  I cried out, then knocked her away.

  Her false teeth slurped out from between her flappy, blue lips, and plopped onto my belly.

  I grabbed her shoulders and held her away from me, while her cold hands patted down my body.

  She found her teeth, and shoved them back in. Then she smiled.

  "How's about a kiss for Grandma?" she said in a voice straight out of Dante's Inferno.

  Then she went for my throat again. I put my hands around her neck.

  "Grandma! It's me Randall! Stop!"

  Grandma didn't stop. Her mouth opened wider and a long rope of pink drool came out, landing on my cheek. I managed to bring my knee up, and I kicked her in the stomach, knocking her down a couple of stairs. Then I scrambled to my feet and leaped up the last few steps and shut the door. There was no lock, so I pressed my back against the old wood, wondering what to do next.

  Squeak-squeak.

  Oh no…

  I looked up. The zombie from the closet—I was pretty convinced by now that both he and Grandma were zombies—was standing in the hallway, staring at me. He still had Josh's rubber ducky in his mouth and was gnawing on it. But now he also had something in his hands.

  Grandma's BBQ fork and spatula; the ones she used for grilling hamburgers.

  Squeak.

  The door creaked behind me, Grandma trying to get out.

  The old man began to shuffle toward me.

  I decided I didn't want to be on the lunch menu, so I ran into the living room, crouching behind the sofa. The basement door burst open, and Grandma scurried through. She seemed a lot bigger. She glanced at the guy who'd bitten her, then began to search around for me. When she found me, she scowled.

  "Would you like some hard candy, Randall?" She reached into the pocket on her house dress, what Josh called her candy pocket because it was always filled with peppermints or butterscotch drops. She held out some bloody pieces of candy. "Come give Grandma a kiss, you can have some."

  She took a few teetering steps toward me.

  "Randall!"

  It was Josh, from the basement. I clenched my fist and reached over for the couch cushion. I gripped it like a medieval knight would grip his shield, holding it by the plastic furniture guard. I was determined to knock Grandma over and get my little brother.

  "Josh! I'm coming, buddy!"

  "There's a man down here!"

  I looked for the zombie from the closet, and he was gone. I'd been so focused on Grandma I hadn't seen him go down the stairs.

  "Naughty boy, Randall. Messing up Grandma's sofa." Grandma let the bloody candy fall from her hands. "No peppermints for you."

  "You're not my grandmother," I said.

  "When I was a little girl, children respected their elders. Now come here, and let Grandma eat you."

  Then she charged at me. I braced myself under the cushion and ran full force into her. We connected and the impact knocked both of us down. I landed hard on my butt. Grandma's false teeth had come out again, skittering onto the plastic rug runner, stopping next to cabinet where she kept the bird feed. Grandma scurried after them, and I ran down the stairs—

  —my bad foot landing on the broken bulb again, making the pain double.

  Biting back a scream, I searched around for Josh or the old man zombie.

  "Josh! Where are you!"

  The basement wasn't that big, but neither Josh nor the old guy was around.

  The laundry room!

  "Josh!"

  I limped across the concrete floor, and opened the door to the laundry room. The old man was poking at the dryer with his fork.

  "Hey!"

  He looked up at me, the duck in his mouth squeaking. I thought fast.

  "Walmart called," I said. "You got the greeting job. It starts today."

  He spit out the rubber duck and made a face. "I fought in Korea, sonny. Private Phil Johnstone won't take no pitiful minimum wage."

  Then he lunged at me. I dodged to the right and the fork scratched my cheek. Then I pushed him out of the room and slammed the door, propping the ironing board under the knob.

  Josh was where I guessed he was, inside the dryer. He was sobbing. I felt so bad. He didn't deserve any of this. I pulled him out.

  "It's okay, buddy. We're safe in here."

  But as zombie Phil began to bang on the door, I questioned my own words. Both the door, and the ironing board, were old. I didn't think they'd hold up to too much pounding.

  I sat down with Josh, holding him. His whines grew louder with each hit on the door.

  BOOM!

  The walls shook and dust flew out everywhere.

  BOOM!

  The door's hinges began to rattle, the screws coming out.

  BOOM!

  The ironing board began to buckle.

  BOOM! BOOM!

  Two bangs. Grandma had joined the zombie party.

  "Randall! Josh! It's bedtime, put on your jammies!" she crowed. "Grandma will tuck you in and read you a story!"

  "Cat in the Hat!" Josh said, trying to stand up.

  "Shh," I told my brother, holding him back. "That's not Grandma, Josh."

  "Then who is it?"

  "It's…"

  What was I supposed to say? That our Grandma had joined the ranks of the living dead and wanted to feast on our flesh?

  "Has Grandma become a zombie?" Josh asked.

  "I… I think so."

  "I thought zombies weren't real. Like Santa Claus. Or Jesus."

  "I don't know, Josh."

  "If she bites us, will we become zombies?"

  "I don't know."

  "Was Jesus a zombie?"

  "What?"

  "He was supposed to rise from the dead, right?"

  "Josh, Grandma is trying to eat us. Can we save the religious discussion for another time?"

  "I'm just questioning the historicity of the gospels concerning Christ, specifically the assertions of his divinity without any corroboration outside of the canon."

  From the mouths of babes.

  "There are mentions of Jesus by historians Josephus and Tacitus," I said.

  "Both those sources are hotly debated on the secular web."

  "We're about to die, Josh. Let's stop talking about religion."

  "Isn't that the best time to talk about it?"

  I stared at him. "How old are you again?"

  "Look, Randall, I'm just saying that maybe Jesus is real, and a zombie, and he bit a bunch of people and started an epidemic."

  "So where have all the zombies been for the past two thousand years?"

  He pursed his lips. "Wyoming."

  "Wyoming?"

  "It's the least populated state, but it's big, almost a hundred thousand square miles. Lots of room for zombies."

  "I don't think the zombies came from Wyoming," I said.

  "How do you know? Have you been to Wyoming?"

  "No."

  "Has anyone we know been to Wyoming?"

  "What does that have to do with anything?"

  "We don't have any first party proof, only hearsay, that there aren't any zombies in Wyoming. Plus, it's the only state that's a rectangle. It would be easy to put a big fence around the state, keep the zombies in. But maybe the fence broke."

  Josh was obvious hysterical, talking nonsense.

  "Wyoming is not the only rectangle state," I insisted. "How about Utah?"

  "That's got that funny little square on the upper left hand corner."

  "North Dakota," I said.

  "Squiggly edge on the east side."

  "New Mexico."

  "Square thing on the bottom, left side."

  I closed my eyes, tried to picture a ma
p of the US. Michigan looked like a mitten. Wisconsin looked like broccoli. Louisiana like a boot. Florida… well, Florida looked sort of like a schlong.

  "Colorado," I finally said.

  Josh's face scrunched up. "You're right. That's a rectangle."

  "Told you."

  "Maybe they keep zombies in Colorado, too."

  "I hear you boys in there, debating theology and geography," Grandma bellowed through the door. "Stop it and let your poor grandmother in. She's starving."

  "How about your pocket candy?" Josh asked her.

  There was a pause. Then, "Randall ate it all."

  Josh turned to me, angry. "You ate all the candy, Randall? You a-word!"

  "I didn't eat the candy, Josh."

  "Smell his breath, Josh," Grandma said. "Smells like peppermints, I bet."

  "Let me smell your breath, Randall."

  "That's insane!" I yelled, covering my mouth. I had eaten a peppermint a little while before Grandma had gotten attacked, and the scent might have still been on me. The last thing we needed right now was to argue.

  "He took it all," Grandma said, "and when I told him to save some for his little brother, he said Josh stinks like poopy."

  "I don't stink like poopy!" Josh yelled at me.

  "I didn't say that, Josh. Can't you see what she's doing? Grandma is trying to drive us apart."

  "Open the door, Josh!" Grandma screeched. "Then I can give Randall a spanking!"

  I could see Josh was considering it. I had to find a way to save us, fast, before he betrayed me and got us both killed. My eyes searched the laundry room for some sort of weapon. All I saw were laundry supplies. I didn't think fabric softener would help in this situation. But above the supply shelf was…

  A window.

  It was only half size, leading into the window well right outside the kitchen. Josh and I liked to go in there sometimes because it always had awesome animals in it, like salamanders and frogs and mice.

  "C'mon," I told my brother, grabbing his hand. "We're getting out of here."

  I told him to climb the shelf and open the window. Josh surprised me by doing it without complaint.

  BOOM!

  The banging had resumed. I chanced a look at the door and saw one of the three hinges had fallen off.

  "Hurry up, Josh."

  "Randall!" he squealed.

  "What?" I stared up at him, alarmed.

  "There's a mouse nest in here! It's awesome!"

  "We don't have time now, little brother."

  "The mouse has a bunch of babies."

  "Really? Lemme see." I hurried up the shelf next to him, looking at the nest. "Awesome."

  "They're pink and don't have hair yet. Got your phone?"

  "Way ahead of you." I used my phone to take a picture of the mice. Then the door burst inward with a giant BANG!

  "We gotta go," I said.

  "Don't step on the mice."

  We climbed out of the window well, careful not to step on the mice. But once we were in the backyard, I wasn't sure where to go. Run into the woods? It was too easy to get lost. Plus, we didn't know if there were more zombies out there.

  "We should hide," Josh said, "wait for Mom and Dad to get home. Dad will kick Grandma's ass."

  Our father never really liked his mother-in-law.

  "What if Grandma finds us?" I asked. "I think we should run."

  "Where?"

  I had no idea. And my foot was really starting to hurt. I seriously needed to get some shoes on. I remembered my flip flops were on the pier.

  The pier…

  The boat!

  "C'mon!" I said, pulling Josh's arm. We ran to the stairs leading to the dock, me limping because the pain was so bad. The boat was a Bass Tracker, fourteen feet long, with a 40 horsepower Mercury engine. I carefully put on my sandals and we climbed aboard. I told Josh to untie us while I sat in the driver's seat, reaching for the ignition.

  No keys.

  "Josh, you need to stay here. I have to get the keys."

  "Don't leave me again, Randall."

  "I have to. I'll only be thirty seconds. Go ahead and count, like we're playing hide and seek. Go."

  Josh began to count slowly. I jumped out of the boat and hobbled up the pier, heading for Grandma's house. She always kept the keys on the kitchen table.

  I got to the patio door and paused, looking through the window. The kitchen was empty. I eased the door open, slipping inside, heading for the table.

  No keys.

  I began searching cabinets. I didn't find keys, but I did find Grandma's stash of hard candy. I grabbed a handful, shoving them into my pocket, pausing to eat one. (I had to, to get the smell of peppermint out of my mouth, so Josh didn't think I'd been eating candy.) Then I started going through the drawers, until I found one with keys in it.

  About five thousand keys.

  "Damn, Grandma. How many locks do you have?"

  She must have saved every key she'd ever had, going back to World War II. The boat key had a yellow sponge thing on the key ring so I knew what to look for. No idea why it had that sponge thing, but I was glad it did because it made the keys easy to find. Once I grabbed them, I limped back onto the patio, but my way was blocked by Grandma and Phil.

  "You're too young to take the boat out by yourself," Grandma said, wagging a finger at me and she moved closer. "Now give me the keys, and let me eat your face."

  "I thought zombies ate brains," I countered.

  "We do. But you, young man, don't have any."

  Wow. Zombie Grandma was a jerk. And I'd spent $20 of my own money buying her slippers for Christmas.

  "How did you become a zombie?" I asked Phil, purposely ignoring Grandma.

  I was hoping he didn't say, "Jesus bit me." Not because of the religious ramification, but because I didn't want my little brother to be right.

  "Ralph," he said. "Bit my arm."

  I didn't know who Ralph was, and didn't really care. But I had more questions.

  "Why did you turn Grandma into a zombie? You just bit her once. You're trying to eat me, but you didn't try to eat her."

  They looked at each other, and then began to giggle in a creepy, gurgly way. Like they had a secret joke they wouldn't share.

  While they were preoccupied with alienating me, I dashed left and headed for the dock. I managed to get around them, but they reacted fast and were quickly right on my heels.

  I looked ahead and saw Josh in the boat. He shrugged his shoulders with his palms facing the sky.

  "Josh, get ready! I got them!"

  I was jingling the keys in the air, like he would hear them. Josh pointed.

  "They're behind you!" he yelled.

  No duh. I didn't need to turn around to see, because I heard them on my heels. Practically close enough to grab me.

  I couldn't make it to Josh in time. And if I did, the zombies would get on the boat behind me.

  For some reason, I thought about this morning. Me, Dad, and Josh fishing on the boat at sunrise. I hooked a big one and Dad coached me as I played the fish.

  "Careful, son. Don't pull too hard. Let him wear himself out."

  Someone shoved my shoulder. I fell forward, skinning my knees.

  "That fish is huge, Randall!" Josh said, ready with the net. "A giant bass!"

  I managed to hang onto the boat key, but while I was on my knees Grandma grabbed my hair and pulled my head back.

  "We got him, Randall!" Josh lifted up the net as if the bass was his, so proud even though it was just a little two pounder. I unhooked it and threw it back. "You'll be next," I said to Josh.

  But he hadn't caught any fish that morning.

  "Randall!"

  I stared at Josh, waving his arms on the boat, and realized something for the first time. We said I love you all the time, same as we said it to Mom and Dad. But until that very moment, I didn't really understand what it meant.

  It meant I couldn't let the zombies get my little brother.

  "Josh! C
atch!"

  I threw the boat keys as hard as I could. My aim was good, but my self-sacrifice turned to poopy when the keys hit Josh square in the face, bounced off, and plopped into the water.

  "You s-word, Randall! You hit me in the nose! You suck!"

  Stupid Josh never could catch anything.

  I felt teeth on my neck. But I fought as hard as I could, and watched as Grandma's uppers fall onto the pier next to me.

  "Damn dentures," she cursed.

  "Don't you have any Poligrip?" Phil asked.

  "I use Fixodent."

  As they debated the various merits of their preferred denture creams, I mourned my failure. I was going to get devoured, and so was Josh. It was going to be awful. Have you ever seen old people eat? It's gross. Now imagine them eating you.

  I looked ahead to say a final goodbye to my brother, and him holding the fishing net, lake water dripping off it, the keys inside.

  Apparently that little yellow sponge thing on the key ring was so the keys floated. Good thinking, somebody.

  Josh held up the net, triumphant, like he'd done earlier with my bass.

  "Randall! Come on!"

  Grandma still had a tight grip on my hair. I couldn't get away without scalping myself.

  "Go without me, Josh!"

  Above me, the undead argument continued, becoming even stupider.

  "Poligrip is zinc free."

  "So is Fixident."

  "Why does it matter that they're zinc free?"

  "I'm not sure. What does zinc do anyway?"

  "I don't know."

  I watched Josh sit in the captain's chair and put the keys in the ignition. He'd never driven the boat by himself, but he'd sat in my lap, or Dad's, and steered before.

  "You can do it, Josh," I said under my breath.

  And he did. He started the boat, gunned the engine, and took off.

  He got all of two feet away before the mooring line held him back. Stupid Josh had forgotten to unhook the stern, and the boat was still attached to the dock.

  "The line!" I yelled. But he couldn't hear me with the motor on. He just revved the motor more.

  "I have zinc in my Geritol," Grandma said. "So why do I want zinc free denture adhesive? Isn't zinc good for you?"

  "I like cats," Phil said. "Do you like cats?"

  "I love cats."

  "I have an old tabby named Eisenhower who is quite the rascal. Tore up my rug the other day."