Free Special Dead by Patrick Freivald

the stairwell, Ani noticed
that one door was open. A man’s voice called out from within. “Hey, kids.” A
wet gurgle followed the greeting.
    Mr. Benson stopped as Ani’s mom stepped out of the
doorway. “Come in and say hello,” she said. They exchanged glances, then
shuffled to the door.
    Ani’s mouth dropped in shock. Mr. Cummings sat behind
his desk, holding a copy of American Spectator . His helmet and bite
guard matched theirs, though his leg irons were chained to a steel ring sunk
into the floor in the corner of the room. His missing left cheek exposed grey
gums and white bone beneath, and a puckered bite-mark marred his neck with pink
scar tissue.
    Sam was the first to speak. “Good morning, Mr.
Cummings.”
    “Good morning, Sammy.” The gurgling wheeze sounded
again; his lungs were obviously damaged under his clothes. “How’s your year
going so far?”
    Sam startled everyone by dragging the whole chain
gang forward so she could wrap him in a hug. “It’s hellish. Are you back for
good?”
    Mr. Cummings disentangled himself with a smile and
laced his fingers behind his helmet. “I think so. Never had much use for unions
or left-wingers before this, but for now the good guys won.”
    “So how is this going to work?” Devon asked, naked
hope in her voice. “Are you teaching government and economics?”
    “Well, Mrs. Weller and I are back full time. We
come in early and leave late, have our own guards,” he nodded to the pair of silver-visored
figures in the back of the room, “and not a whole lot of mobility. Pending
approval to bring you out, we’ll go to your room and teach you in there.” He
gave Ani’s mother a sly look, then used a stage whisper. “They won’t let me use
a pen or pencil, not even to grade. Stupid, stupid, stupid.”
    She returned his gaze with no sign of affront. “Rules
are rules, Mr. Cummings.”
    “Indeed they are, Doctor Romero,” he said.
    “So are you glad to be back?” Lydia asked.
    He looked out the window. “Well, I’m glad to be out
of my cell, but all in all I’d rather be fishing.”
     
    *  
*   *
     
    Mrs. Weller scowled at them as they walked through
her door, then directed her attention toward Dr. Romero. “What?” Aside from
heavy makeup, the helmet, and shackles, there was no sign that she was a
zombie.
    “The children wanted to welcome you back.”
    She grunted by way of reply, then turned back to
her computer.
    Lydia took a cautious step forward. “How are you
doing, Mrs. Weller?”
    She spun in her chair, the chain rattling against
her ankle. Her hand jerked out, finger pointed at Mike. “He mauled me, and now
I’m dead, chained to my damned desk. How do you think I’m doing?”
    “Welcome to our world,” Kyle chimed.
    She put her head in her hands.
    “Just go away.”
    They shuffled out the door, and Devon said, “Wow.”
    “It’s been a hard transition,” Dr. Romero said. “She
needs time to adjust.”
    Lydia looked at the nameplate outside the door. “Is
she still teaching eighth-grade English?”
    Ani’s mom nodded. “And eleventh. She has
seniority, so by union rules she gets to choose her schedule. She’ll also be
tutoring you guys every other day.”
    Joe knocked on his helmet. “So that’s what the
protests were about...parents don’t want their kids taught by zombies?”
    Her mom sighed. “We only lost a couple kids this
time. Most of the crowd outside don’t even have kids in the district.”
    “That’s racist,” Kyle said. “Zombie teachers can
teach as good as alive teachers.”
    “Gooder!” Joe said with a smirk.
    Teah punched him in the arm. “Kyle’s right. They
should totally sue.”
    Ani and her mother exchanged looks.
    Without a word, they were led down the hall to
their classroom.
     
    *  
*   *
     
    The next day Ani looked up as the door clanged
open. A guard stood behind Mr. Cummings, holding a long pole clipped to the
ring on the back of his helmet. He steered the teacher with the