Zombie Kong - Anthology by TW; T. A. Wardrope Simon; Brown William; McCaffery Tonia; Meikle David Niall; Brown Wilson Page A
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askew. He fumbled a key out of his pocket and opened a cabinet marked with a flame symbol. He grabbed the red canister and twisted a valve. “Get down!” He pointed the flamethrower toward the Zs staggering through the hall, and a jet of fire blossomed into a cloud.
Thomas dodged down a side corridor and followed other teenagers seeking safety. Danielle was among them. Her hair flowed over her shoulder as she ran. Thomas put on a burst of speed, weaving in and out of people like a football player.
The ZK’s hand punched through the wall, snatching Mark Muller and pulling him out of sight. The wall was a load-bearing structure, and a section of ceiling collapsed. Blocked, Thomas tried to go back. Flames shot through the hall he came from, and the shouts of Mr. Jablanski echoed. Meanwhile, students behind Thomas had been bitten, and they staggered toward him with a hungry gleam in their otherwise blank eyes.
Thomas picked his way through the hole made by the ZK’s paw. The beast laid on its stomach, gnawing its meal. One of its legs still stuck out of the ceiling (its foot was caught in the rafters). Thomas tried to sprint past it, and a monster hand slammed down in his wake. The ZK attempted another grab. Its fist brushed Thomas as he dodged into the lunch line hall. The force of the blow caused him to stumble. He rolled away from the seeking fingers and pushed his way into a bathroom. He shut himself inside the corner stall and locked its door. He sat on the toilet tank, feet up so they wouldn’t be visible beneath the door.
How many doors had he passed through in the last five minutes?
Thomas thought of an essay by Siegbert Becker. God didn’t carve a person’s path through life in stone. He gave them freedom of choice, but sometimes directed their path through the opening and closing of doors. A person might try something and be shut down; or they might try something and make progress. If they found themselves in a place where a decision had to be made and they didn’t know what to do, they considered their gifts, circumstances, right and wrong, and made the best choice they could.
Outside the bathroom, muffled screams and roars reached Thomas’ ears. A few gunshots blasted, probably from teachers.
What am I going to do?
Presently, Thomas worked for a commercial gardener, picking strawberries in the summer and chopping rhubarb plants into more rhubarb plants in the winter. It paid for video games and little else. It wouldn’t work as a career.
As for college, Thomas hadn’t applied to any because his grades weren’t stellar, nor were his goals. He supposed he could attend the local community college, but that seemed like giving up––doing something just to do something. Still, it was an avenue to try, and filling out an application to see what developed wouldn’t hurt anything.
Nor would applying at Agri-Verse.
The wheeze of a pneumatic hinge announced the opening of the bathroom door. Thomas froze as footsteps shuffled inside and stopped in front of his stall. Its door creaked as someone pressed against it. Thomas’ heart pounded. A pair of hands appeared below the door as the person went to their knees to peer through the gap. The face belonged to a seventh-grader. Drool fell from his purple lips as he spotted Thomas.
Thomas erupted off the toilet tank, pushed aside a ceiling tile and pulled himself into the crawlspace. He managed to worm on top of an air duct, which squeaked and shook, but held his weight. An additional problem presented itself––the crawlspace was filled with smoke, which stung Thomas’ eyes and made him cough.
Where there’s smoke, there’s fire…
The flamethrower Mr. Jablanski used was meant for the porthole at the front entrance, not the interior of the school. Thomas guessed insulation in the crawlspace ignited, and the fire would burn through the whole building, not reducing it to cinders, but filling it with poisonous fumes. Even now, Thomas felt his head go
Thomas dodged down a side corridor and followed other teenagers seeking safety. Danielle was among them. Her hair flowed over her shoulder as she ran. Thomas put on a burst of speed, weaving in and out of people like a football player.
The ZK’s hand punched through the wall, snatching Mark Muller and pulling him out of sight. The wall was a load-bearing structure, and a section of ceiling collapsed. Blocked, Thomas tried to go back. Flames shot through the hall he came from, and the shouts of Mr. Jablanski echoed. Meanwhile, students behind Thomas had been bitten, and they staggered toward him with a hungry gleam in their otherwise blank eyes.
Thomas picked his way through the hole made by the ZK’s paw. The beast laid on its stomach, gnawing its meal. One of its legs still stuck out of the ceiling (its foot was caught in the rafters). Thomas tried to sprint past it, and a monster hand slammed down in his wake. The ZK attempted another grab. Its fist brushed Thomas as he dodged into the lunch line hall. The force of the blow caused him to stumble. He rolled away from the seeking fingers and pushed his way into a bathroom. He shut himself inside the corner stall and locked its door. He sat on the toilet tank, feet up so they wouldn’t be visible beneath the door.
How many doors had he passed through in the last five minutes?
Thomas thought of an essay by Siegbert Becker. God didn’t carve a person’s path through life in stone. He gave them freedom of choice, but sometimes directed their path through the opening and closing of doors. A person might try something and be shut down; or they might try something and make progress. If they found themselves in a place where a decision had to be made and they didn’t know what to do, they considered their gifts, circumstances, right and wrong, and made the best choice they could.
Outside the bathroom, muffled screams and roars reached Thomas’ ears. A few gunshots blasted, probably from teachers.
What am I going to do?
Presently, Thomas worked for a commercial gardener, picking strawberries in the summer and chopping rhubarb plants into more rhubarb plants in the winter. It paid for video games and little else. It wouldn’t work as a career.
As for college, Thomas hadn’t applied to any because his grades weren’t stellar, nor were his goals. He supposed he could attend the local community college, but that seemed like giving up––doing something just to do something. Still, it was an avenue to try, and filling out an application to see what developed wouldn’t hurt anything.
Nor would applying at Agri-Verse.
The wheeze of a pneumatic hinge announced the opening of the bathroom door. Thomas froze as footsteps shuffled inside and stopped in front of his stall. Its door creaked as someone pressed against it. Thomas’ heart pounded. A pair of hands appeared below the door as the person went to their knees to peer through the gap. The face belonged to a seventh-grader. Drool fell from his purple lips as he spotted Thomas.
Thomas erupted off the toilet tank, pushed aside a ceiling tile and pulled himself into the crawlspace. He managed to worm on top of an air duct, which squeaked and shook, but held his weight. An additional problem presented itself––the crawlspace was filled with smoke, which stung Thomas’ eyes and made him cough.
Where there’s smoke, there’s fire…
The flamethrower Mr. Jablanski used was meant for the porthole at the front entrance, not the interior of the school. Thomas guessed insulation in the crawlspace ignited, and the fire would burn through the whole building, not reducing it to cinders, but filling it with poisonous fumes. Even now, Thomas felt his head go
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