Chapter 1 Part 1
Ben Phillips dragged his feet and hated the heft of his
backpack. Not that it was heavy, but it reminded him that his math homework
wasn't in there. He'd planned to do it last night, but made the mistake of
turning on his Xbox before cracking the books. Neither Mom nor Dad would walk
in on him, so his only enemy was willpower, which he thought he could beat. He
kept getting in better and better battle groups, and before he knew it, it was
after eleven. Even with their constant bickering, Mom and Dad would notice him
still up that late on a school night. Probably.
Okay, so maybe playing too many video games instead of doing
homework wasn't that rare of an occurrence. It wouldn't be such a big deal if
it wasn't Mr. Simms. The math teacher notoriously yelled at students who didn't
finish their assignments. Ben was pretty good about getting math homework done
as he'd been on the receiving end of the browbeating before, and it wasn't fun.
Since today was Monday, it would be worse. Sure, he had all weekend to finish,
but he also had other classes. Why didn't teachers get this?
Something buzzed on the back of
his neck. It was a prickly feeling, like when he woke his foot up after it fell
asleep, that feeling of a thousand tiny needles sticking him. His hand flew up
there, but nothing sat on his neck. He looked around and found himself in front
of that house that sold a few weeks back. He still hadn't seen who moved in.
Whoever it was, they certainly didn't come out very often.
Come to think of it, the whole
neighborhood was quiet this morning. Usually there were people leaving for
work, walking their dogs, or simply out to get their morning paper. But this
morning? Nothing.
The prickly sensation hit
harder, moving up his head and down his back. Movement caught his eye at the
sidewalk by the property boundary. He let out a yell and stepped back. His foot
fell on the edge of the grass and sidewalk, and he tumbled onto his butt.
Instead of pushing back up, he turned and scurried on all fours up the lawn towards
the porch. There was no way he saw what he thought he did.
Ben bolted up to the front door
and spun to look, sure his imagination had gotten the best of him. It was a
holdover in his mind from the zombie mode in Warfare Zone, the first-person
shooter he'd been playing last night. But instead of an empty lawn, there were
two people lumbering towards him. No, not people, not really. They were walking
corpses, zombies. Had to be. Their skin was a pale mixture of blue and green,
and open sores littered every bit of exposed surface. Their tattered dress
shirts and pants wore stains of dirt and who knew what else. Both of their jaws
moved up and down as if they were trying to speak. Or, more likely, ready to
chew up anything that got in their way.
If he ran quick enough, he could
skirt past them. These looked to be the classic slow-moving zombies, not the
super fast ones from some of the more recent horror flicks. But weren't they,
regardless of speed, relentless? If they really were after him, they wouldn't
give up, no matter where he ran, until they caught him.
Hysterical giggles threatened to
overwhelm him. Here he was, trying to sort this out as if it were science, not
fiction. But, then again, there were two creatures he could only think of as
zombies coming right at him. How much more real could this get?
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