threatening to tip. One false move and the thing was going to collapse. He clasped his hand around the top of the garbage bag and prepared to jump.
Just then, the whole unit tipped backward, setting off a domino effect of toppling shelves that buried the zombies in a heap of bent metal, chunky salsa, cheese curls, and two-liters.
Zack trampled down the crunching pile of junk food and zombie claws and then hid in a clearing behind a bargain bin of assorted DVDs: Happy Feet, Surf’s Up, Don’t Look Now .
Zack gasped, eyeing the door to the stairwell.
A tank-topped, hairy-shouldered zombie with a curly mullet stood barefoot in front of the door, wearing boxer shorts dotted with smiley faces. He squished his eyeball against the thin, crosshatched window.
Above the elevator the number two was still lit up. C’mon, Rice, send it back down already, Zack thought, clutching the bag. He glanced over his right shoulder.
A pretzel-legged zombie cheerleader pulled herself across the smooth linoleum with the sticky palms of her hands. Slap, slap…pull. Slap, slap…pull. Her legs were useless, dislocated at the hips, and a scaly red scab masked half of her face. She looked at Zack with a demented stare.
The zombie blocking the stairwell whipped its head around too fast. Its right eye sprang from the deep purple socket hole like a rubber ball off a wooden paddle. It made a sound like when you pop the inside of your cheek with your index finger. Murky orange saliva poured down the chin of the jut-jawed slob.
Ding!
Finally the number one lit up. The doors opened, and Zack made a break for the elevator.
He was seriously off balance, sprinting faster than his feet could carry him, and he caught a glimpse of the eyeball swaying by a blue stretchy tendon.
The squelching ghoul shuffled across the tiles.Its swollen feet slogged across the floor, leaving a slippery trail of gray-green goop. Zack hit the floor, sliding chest-first, and skidded between the juicy beast’s legs, which were covered in a cruddy pus. The zombie bent suddenly at the waist, and his flabby arms swiped down. The dangling eyeball swung like a pendulum and whacked Zack behind his ear. Aahhh, nasty! Zack glided into the elevator, arms outstretched like a slip-n’-slime Superman. The bag of lighter fluid clanked on the closing doors, and the elevator car lifted.
His whole front now stained with zombie muck, Zack burst through the office door and dumped out the black trash bag next to the three bags of charcoal. He ripped open the tops of the charcoal bags and squeezed the first bottle of lighter fluid,dousing the sooty black rocks.
Suddenly, Zack realized he was alone in the room. He whirled around twice before noticing two heads bobbling outside the open window behind the desk.
Perched on the awning above the crowd of zombies, Rice and Madison crawled on their hands and knees. Rice had snipped two holes in the awning with a pair of scissors from the manager’s desk, and they were each armed with a squirt gun from Rice’s backpack. They aimed their plastic pistols down through the holes and watered the beastly wrangle below them.
“Rice, what are you doing?” Zack shouted through the window.
“Watch and learn, Zack,” Rice said, blasting a zombie with a long stream from the squirt gun. “We dissolved the ginkgo in the water guns and now…”
“This isn’t working, Rice!” Madison yelled over the savage groans.
“Keep squirting!” he commanded like a little general.
“Will you two stop squirting zombies and help me in here? I have a real idea.”
“Not now, Zack!”
“Fine, I’ll do it myself.” Zack squeezed out another bottle of lighter fluid on the open bags of charcoal and carried one over to the window. Rice and Madison crawled back inside the office.
“I told you it wouldn’t do anything,” Madison said. “It just ticked them off.”
“It would’ve worked if you squirted them in the mouth,” Rice said. “She’s got
Just then, the whole unit tipped backward, setting off a domino effect of toppling shelves that buried the zombies in a heap of bent metal, chunky salsa, cheese curls, and two-liters.
Zack trampled down the crunching pile of junk food and zombie claws and then hid in a clearing behind a bargain bin of assorted DVDs: Happy Feet, Surf’s Up, Don’t Look Now .
Zack gasped, eyeing the door to the stairwell.
A tank-topped, hairy-shouldered zombie with a curly mullet stood barefoot in front of the door, wearing boxer shorts dotted with smiley faces. He squished his eyeball against the thin, crosshatched window.
Above the elevator the number two was still lit up. C’mon, Rice, send it back down already, Zack thought, clutching the bag. He glanced over his right shoulder.
A pretzel-legged zombie cheerleader pulled herself across the smooth linoleum with the sticky palms of her hands. Slap, slap…pull. Slap, slap…pull. Her legs were useless, dislocated at the hips, and a scaly red scab masked half of her face. She looked at Zack with a demented stare.
The zombie blocking the stairwell whipped its head around too fast. Its right eye sprang from the deep purple socket hole like a rubber ball off a wooden paddle. It made a sound like when you pop the inside of your cheek with your index finger. Murky orange saliva poured down the chin of the jut-jawed slob.
Ding!
Finally the number one lit up. The doors opened, and Zack made a break for the elevator.
He was seriously off balance, sprinting faster than his feet could carry him, and he caught a glimpse of the eyeball swaying by a blue stretchy tendon.
The squelching ghoul shuffled across the tiles.Its swollen feet slogged across the floor, leaving a slippery trail of gray-green goop. Zack hit the floor, sliding chest-first, and skidded between the juicy beast’s legs, which were covered in a cruddy pus. The zombie bent suddenly at the waist, and his flabby arms swiped down. The dangling eyeball swung like a pendulum and whacked Zack behind his ear. Aahhh, nasty! Zack glided into the elevator, arms outstretched like a slip-n’-slime Superman. The bag of lighter fluid clanked on the closing doors, and the elevator car lifted.
His whole front now stained with zombie muck, Zack burst through the office door and dumped out the black trash bag next to the three bags of charcoal. He ripped open the tops of the charcoal bags and squeezed the first bottle of lighter fluid,dousing the sooty black rocks.
Suddenly, Zack realized he was alone in the room. He whirled around twice before noticing two heads bobbling outside the open window behind the desk.
Perched on the awning above the crowd of zombies, Rice and Madison crawled on their hands and knees. Rice had snipped two holes in the awning with a pair of scissors from the manager’s desk, and they were each armed with a squirt gun from Rice’s backpack. They aimed their plastic pistols down through the holes and watered the beastly wrangle below them.
“Rice, what are you doing?” Zack shouted through the window.
“Watch and learn, Zack,” Rice said, blasting a zombie with a long stream from the squirt gun. “We dissolved the ginkgo in the water guns and now…”
“This isn’t working, Rice!” Madison yelled over the savage groans.
“Keep squirting!” he commanded like a little general.
“Will you two stop squirting zombies and help me in here? I have a real idea.”
“Not now, Zack!”
“Fine, I’ll do it myself.” Zack squeezed out another bottle of lighter fluid on the open bags of charcoal and carried one over to the window. Rice and Madison crawled back inside the office.
“I told you it wouldn’t do anything,” Madison said. “It just ticked them off.”
“It would’ve worked if you squirted them in the mouth,” Rice said. “She’s got
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