Free Neighborhood Watch by Evan Bollinger Page B

“Goober, you look like you fell in dog turd. Were you playing in dog turd, goober?”
    Right then I wanted to throw a punch to his face, but I knew I couldn't. The image of that shivering, growling thing was still freshly burned in my mind. All I could remember was falling right before my bike and then jumping up. Somehow, I had managed to hop on and take off. I couldn't even remember how close it came to me.
    I hadn't looked back.
    Suddenly a prickle ran up my spine. It could have followed me all the way home... what if..
    I rushed downstairs, making sure that the front door was closed and locked. I checked the windows, I tightened the blinds, I even checked the back-porch door to make sure it was locked. It was. A second later, I was back upstairs, standing back in front of my brother and his friend's bewildered expressions.
    “Dude, what you are doing?” They focused back on the video-game, fingers flicking with trained precision. “Why would you go into his house?”
    “Yea,” said Sam. “Are you, like, trying to get raped?”
    God, my brother and his friends were stupid. No wonder Mitch barely got accepted to his safety school. If he wasn't working at the restaurant, he was playing video games and getting high. A quality guy and a quality role model. What a joke
    “I walked in because the door was open,” I started, “but I saw him in there, but something.. it was, he was different.” I didn't know how to describe it, it all sounded too crazy.
    “You shouldn't just walk into people's homes, little man,” Sam said. He reached over, sparked the bong and took a deep inhale. A second later, the smoke rings curled before his bleary eyes. “It's not right, ya know,” he continued. “Especially for a little paperboy.”
    My brother cracked a smile. “Yea, Bill, listen to the man. He knows best. Sam's dad works in secur—
    “Mr. Clark is a zombie!” And there it was, blurted out for all to hear. As soon as I had said it, I wished I hadn't. I realized how silly it all was, how crazy to say something like that. Zombies were for movies and magazines and stories and comic strips. They were for video-games.
    “A zombie, eh?” I could tell Mitch was just playing along, thinking it was funny. So I kept my face serious as my heart hammered. “Yea, he had the eyes and his skin was really tight and his clothes were ripped...”
    Mitch frowned. “You really need to lay off the R-rated movies, goober. Do Mom and Dad know about your little habits?”
    “I'm old enough.” And it was true, I was more mature than kids in their 20s, I swore it. “Where are mom and dad?”
    “Out,” Mitch said, disinterested. “For the whole weekend. Don't you ever listen?”
    “Doing what?” I asked.
    “Adult things.”
    Sam's stoned laughter filled the air. “Adult thiiiiings. ”
    “So tell us more about this zombie,” Mitch said. “Did it try to eat you? Did you aim for its head? You know you gotta aim for the head.”
    “Always,” explained Sam.
    “Right in the middle,” my brother said. He placed a finger on the center of his forehead. “Right in the sweet spot.”
    Sam nodded. “Absolutely, breh . You gotta be smart, you want a clean kill. Can't risk spilling their fluids all on ya, ya know.”
    “This guy had fluid all over him!” I shouted it out. I could still picture that dark weird smelly stuff covering his face, like an acid or something.
    “Calm down little bro,” Mitch said. “Here, you want a hit?” He offered me the bong, knowing I didn't smoke.
    Sam shot his friend a curious smirk. “Yea, relax man, if it's a zombie, it's not going to come here first. They're slow, they can't chase you on a bike.”
    Mitch shook his head. “Bullshit, depends on the infection type. Some can move really fast.”
    I felt my racing heart return.
    “ Naaah , that's bologna,” Sam said. He took a slurp from his soda. “That's the whole new age zombie thing, real zombies are slow.” He stepped up for a second and