Zombies in Print

Last week or so, for the first time, the existence of zombie novels became apparent. What the author didn’t exploit was just how much more fun could’ve been had with this subject; he seemed to have otherwise fully exploited synonyms for gray matter, decay, flesh, and fluids - much as romance novels labor to devise new language for basic things. Some of the terminology was the same in both, fittingly.

High brow. Totally.

Time to get a piece of this action:

The body that used to be the perpetually shush-ing school librarian lurched forward. Often a target of Ms. Simon’s focus, Moose jumped at the chance to get a little payback.
“Ms. Simon, are you feeling okay?”
Her head continued to hang, frizzy hair shielding her face from view. When Moose was around, this usually was accompanied by muffled mutterings of exasperation or blatant mockery, but now she was silent.
“Can I have a Hall Pass?”
Wobble, wobble. An arm reached forward.
“I can get it myself, if that helps.” Oh yes! A Hall Pass! And she was clearly too weak to keep him from grabbing it and running. His plump arm went for the drawer.
“Snsnssnsnnnn! Gaaaaaahhhhrr!”
“Ahhhhhh!”
“Rraaaaaaaaaahhhg!...Gugh, gugh,” Saliva and blood mixed together as she greedily gobbled his plump forearm, having snapped his neck at the calm barkings of ‘gugh.’ In the few moments remaining before her brain fully became sludge, she looked skyward, tapping her chin, contented she finally profited from the un-observant and imprudent nature of Moose – although with her mind liquefying, she couldn’t quite think of these exact descriptors, so her internal dialogue was something more like ‘Unnng, aah ah ah, blaththththththth, ah ah…lluuuuuu.’ The spirits of the Guardian Librarians appreciated the sense of satisfaction but bemoaned that Ms. Simon would, clearly, never shush again.

Having all been turned to zombies, the School Board meetings were a bit less verbose than usual that night. Chairman McSoren pointed to the pie chart on its easel. He wasn’t quite sure anymore what it meant or was even for, but he knew he’d spent a good deal of time on it, and the bright colors were engaging.
“Buuuut, yooo gaah,” and the chairman turned to look at the committee, annoyed by their glazed-over expressions. He struck his favorite part of the chart, the neon green, to emphasize its importance. It’s green, but it’s really bright – completely captivating. He’d make sure they saw this color, or wanted to, though he kept becoming entranced by it, drooling down his face as he stared shamelessly, somewhat aroused.
“Muhnnnnnnn thth ta ta taaaah,” from the crowd, snapping him back to relative attention.
“Dlah, dleck. Mennnnggh bok bok.” McSoren had always been quick to anger. Being a zombie did little to improve his disposition.
“Naa na’ah. [Heavy breathing.] Gluul faaahta.” The stare-down with Coach Bagger began, ending moments later when his left eye lazily fell from its socket. Ashamed, Bagger hung his head. Things like this always happened to him, like the time he tried to kiss Ms. Simon but he was so nervous he puked a little instead, and yesterday when he tried to kiss her again but half his lower lip fell off. Then there was what happened last night, just when she’d finally succumbed to his rotting-flesh-or-no animal prowess, which fortunately she could never coherently describe to anyone else. Sure he felt less a man, but at this point the same fate had likely befallen many of the other males. Protruding cartilage was bound to be some of the first to go.
McSoren, however, still laughed at the sagging eyeball, hanging flaccidly from its socket. Ms. Simon took a break from devouring Moose to gesture how to reinsert his eyeball. At least this time the faulty part could be reattached. Still, McSoren’s amusement was irksome. McSoren mocking the moment of eyeball loss, though, was just uncalled for.
“Nn’guhg!”
“Baaaaaa leeeee, ree ree.”
“Baaaa leeee ree ree OOOO. Tleh tleh nnn gho!”
“Vah la, kaa vah vvvee,” which really was just asking for it. He knew very well that Bagger couldn’t make ‘v’ sounds, what with his lower lip missing.
“Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh!” and the coach lunged straight for his throat. Someone else might’ve been able to move out of the way, but zombie-on-zombie action is a great equalizer. “Blahg!”
The committee still just stared around the room, Ms. Simon sucked on Moose’s femur – rather rudely not offering to share - and collectively they all were thinking ‘uuuuuhhh’ in a low B minor. Blissful. Then entered President Bush, but no one could tell if he was one of them or not. Their collective thought became ‘hhhhhuuhhhnn?’ Only one way to find out.
The long tables were pushed over, zombie committee climbing over the furniture, golem-style but slower. Bush stared. They paused.
“Glaggle snarf,” he stated, quizzicly.
Ever the leader, McSoren asked, “Bliggle dawk? Waaaaaa?”
Bush snickered.
The battle call sounded, “Waaaaaaaa!”
Bush stared blankly, unreacting and seemingly unafraid. There was a moment of impasse. No one could tell if, like them, his brain had been liquefied - food and foe or friend? They could’ve had him try to blow his nose and check for bit of gray matter, but who had the patience for that? As one, the zombies shrugged.
“Nug.”
“Nug.”
“Nug!” he mimicked enthusiastically. And was eaten.

Whatever small seeds remained in the School Board members of humanity rejoiced.