Zombies Are People Too Read online

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Glossary

  Top Secret

  Prologue

  Part I: The Decision

  The Smartest Kid in School

  A Strange Man

  Dr. Principal’s Office

  Sarah Anne

  A Surprise from Ross

  Walking Home

  A Shock

  Another Shock

  “You Can Do It!”

  Going Back

  Saying Good-Bye

  Part II: The Territory

  Meet the Clacknozzles

  Memory Dream

  Human Promises

  Dodgeball Again?

  The Experiment

  Living Like Humans

  Indoctrination

  Future Dream

  Scrubbed Clean

  Part III: The Plan

  A New Narrator

  Life Without Arnold

  A Friend in Trouble

  Making a Plan

  The Strength

  How to Eat Lunch Like a Human Child

  Spies

  Outside–Thursday, 6:57 P.M.

  Inside–Thursday, 8:14 P.M.

  Part IV: The Escape & The Rescue

  Outside–Friday, 4:14 P.M.

  Inside–Friday, 5:32 P.M.

  Inside–Friday, 5:48 P.M.

  Outside–Friday, 6:19 P.M.

  Inside–Friday, 9:18 P.M.

  Outside–Friday, 7:12 P.M.–Saturday, 4:38 A.M.

  Inside–Saturday, 5:28 A.M.

  Outside–Saturday, 6:38 A.M.

  Inside–Saturday, 6:37 A.M.

  Outside–Saturday, 6:52 A.M.

  Inside–Saturday, 7:07 A.M.

  Inside–Saturday, 7:09 A.M.

  Inside–Saturday, 7:11 A.M.

  Inside–Saturday, 7:12 A.M.

  Together–Saturday, 7:13 A.M.

  Part V: The Return

  Hello Again

  Good-Bye for Now

  One Last Shock

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Sneak Peek

  Copyright

  Hi, my name is Arnold Z. Ombee.

  Kind of.

  It’s a long story, and if you want the details, you can read them in my first book, A ZOMBIE ATE MY HOMEWORK. But if you don’t want the details, here’s the short version:

  I’m a zombie.

  I was brought to life (or afterlife) in a secret lab.

  I escaped.

  I was rescued by the Kinders, a wonderful family.

  They decided that for my own protection, I should pretend to be a regular human boy.

  I went to school and made some friends.

  People found out I was a zombie.

  After a big kerfuffle (a great word, in case you don’t know it. I have an embarrassingly large vocabulary, which is why I know it), I was allowed to stay with the Kinders.

  Sounds like a happy ending, right?

  Not so fast.

  It was more like a crazy beginning.

  There’s a phrase that used to run through my head all the time back when I first escaped from the lab.

  Jenny Kinder—who is now, unofficially, my mom—said the scientists at the lab programmed those thoughts into my brain so that I would be aggressive toward people.

  She would know, since she was one of the scientists. (Long story. Like I said, you can read the first book if you want to know the details.)

  But guess what? It didn’t work. Probably because it’s not true.

  If they wanted to be accurate, they would have programmed this:

  When I entered the fifth grade at Bernard J. Frumpstein Elementary School, most people treated me like a total outsider—probably because I was a total outsider. But there were two people who were nice to me: Evan Brantley, who got on my nerves by flicking the back of my neck on my very first bus ride but quickly became my best pal; and Kiki Ambrose, the most popular kid in the whole school, who decided for some incredibly lucky reason to find me interesting.

  At first, all the other kids made fun of me; then, when they saw me temporarily paralyze Ross Klepsaw with the Zombie Zing (it was his fault, I swear), they all got scared of me; and finally, when everyone found out I was a zombie but that I was more interested in being their friend than eating their brains, they accepted me as (almost) one of them.

  Which is where the whole tutoring thing comes in.

  One day during lunch, a boy named Jimmy Edwards came up to me. I’d barely said five words to him before then, but he slapped me on the back like we were old pals.

  “Arnold, buddy boy!” he exclaimed. “How goes it?”

  I looked up at him. “It goes it pretty well, how goes it with you?”

  “Great, great.” Jimmy pulled up a chair next to me. “So yeah, Arnold, I got a little problem, to be honest with you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m failing English.”

  “Oh. Gosh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Kiki, who was sitting on one side of me, rolled her eyes. “Get to the point, Jimmy.”

  “Right.” Jimmy glared at Kiki, then turned back to me. “So anyway, Arnold, I was wondering, since you’re so smart and everything, maybe you could, like, help me get my grade up?”

  I was confused, since the whole process of school had seemed pretty easy to follow so far. “Help you how? If you do the work the class requires, then surely you will succeed.”

  Jimmy cleared his throat. “Yeah, well, uh, I guess I haven’t exactly done the work required.”

  “Oh. I understand,” I said, even though I didn’t.

  Evan, who was sitting on the other side of me, saw the confusion on my face. “Here’s the thing, Arnold. Not all kids are the same. Some kids do their homework; others don’t. Some kids pay attention in class; some kids don’t. Some kids like to read; others don’t.”

  “Nobody likes to read,” corrected Jimmy.

  “That’s not true,” insisted Evan. “I do, for example.”

  Jimmy snickered. “No normal people.”

  “Enough, you two,” said Kiki. “I love to read, but that doesn’t make me any better than kids who don’t. We’re just different, that’s all.” She fiddled with her hair. “The point is, Arnold, that you’re, like, the smartest kid in the whole school, and Jimmy needs some help. Will you help him?”

  “Of course I will.”

  That day after school, I taught Jimmy the difference between its and it’s, made sure he knew the difference between an adjective and an adverb, and showed him how to use sluggish in a sentence (“Eating four ice cream sandwiches at lunch made Timmy sluggish at soccer practice”). Then, for the next week, I helped him with a whole bunch of other stuff.

  When Jimmy got an eighty one on the test, he ran over to me. “Yo, dude, we did it!”

  “You did it,” I told him.

  “Nah, we!” He lifted me up in the air, which wasn’t hard for him to do, since he’s very strong and I’m very skinny. “Hey, everyone! Arnold here saved my butt! He’s, like, a genius!”

  And that’s basically how I became the unofficial tutor for the entire fifth grade class at Bernard J. Frumpstein Elementary School.

  “How much are you making for all this tutoring?” Evan asked me one day, while we were jumping on his trampoline.

  I did a triple somersault, which is easy for me because my legs are like rubber bands. Extremely pale rubber bands. “Making? What do you mean, making?”

  “I mean, how much are you charging for your work?”

  “I’m not charging anything,” I told him. “I’m doing it because they need my help.”

  Evan’s eyes went wide. “Are you kidding me right now? You need t
o be getting paid! Makin’ the MOAN-NAY!”

  Apparently, there was still a lot I needed to learn about the ways of the humans.

  After I’d been living with Jenny and Bill Kinder for about two months, I was able to do the following activities fairly successfully:

  1) Brushing my teeth

  2) Taking a shower

  3) Tying my shoes

  4) Passing as a human

  However, I was still having trouble with the following:

  1) Listening to loud music

  2) Watching television shows about roommates who complain about each other

  3) Incredibly heavy school backpacks. What’s that about?

  4) Anything that had to do with football. I just don’t get that sport at all.

  Lester, however, LOVED football. Did I mention Lester? He’s my fifteen-year-old kind-of-brother. When the Kinders first rescued me, their son, Lester, treated me like an alien, probably because I pretty much was an alien. He really didn’t like having me around at all. But then this girl he liked, whose name is Darlene, decided I was the coolest-looking kid in town, and, sure enough, Lester and I have gotten along pretty well ever since. But that didn’t mean I liked going to his football games. I went because Jenny Kinder—who I guess I should start calling Mom—and Bill Kinder (Dad) didn’t really give me much choice.

  “It’s important to have family time,” explained Mom. “We all lead such busy lives that we need to stay connected.”

  I was confused. “How is watching Lester jump on top of other people, and watching other people jump on top of Lester, staying connected?”

  “It just is,” Dad said. My new parents were the nicest people you’d ever meet, but sometimes they ran out of patience explaining normal human things to me.

  It was about ten weeks after the Kinders rescued me, at a Friday-night spring league football game where Lester was busy getting smushed underneath another pile of people, when I noticed a man in a red jacket talking to my teacher, Mrs. Huggle. Now, normally I wouldn’t think it was such a big deal. I see people talking to my teacher all the time, usually kids complaining about a homework assignment, but there was something about this man that made me look twice.

  He seemed familiar.

  And since I had no long-term memory and very limited short-term memory, no one looked familiar.

  But he did.

  My parents were watching the game closely, so I didn’t want to bother them, but Darlene—who was sitting with us even though she thought football was “barbaric”—was staring at her phone. I tapped her on the shoulder. “Excuse me, Darlene, do you see that man down there talking to Mrs. Huggle?”

  Darlene looked up at me with one eye. “Stop being so polite. You don’t have to say ‘Excuse me.’ You can just say ‘Yo, Darlene.’ ”

  “Okay. Yo, Darlene, do you see that man down there talking to Mrs. Huggle?”

  Darlene glanced up for approximately half a second. “The guy with a beard and glasses? Yeah, I see him.”

  “Do you know him?”

  This time she glanced up an extra second. “Don’t think so. Why?”

  “I don’t know. I feel like I’ve seen him before.”

  “So?” Darlene asked, which was a perfectly reasonable question.

  Something big happened on the field, and the crowd cheered. “Lester just made a long run!” my dad said. “They’re down to the twenty-two-yard line!”

  “That’s amazing,” I said. “I love the twenty-two-yard line. It’s my favorite yard line.”

  Dad shook his head and turned his attention back to the game. My mom gave me a little hug. “I know you don’t care about football, and that’s just fine,” she said. “After the game, we’ll all go out for ice cream—how’s that sound?”

  “It sounds great,” I said, even though we both knew that they’d all have ice cream and I’d have jelly beans, because that’s all I ever had. I couldn’t eat anything else, and I’d never be able to. Just like I’d never sleep, and I’d never breathe, and I’d never be a normal human kid. Because I wasn’t that, and it didn’t do me any good to think I ever would be.

  “Mom?”

  “Yes, Arnold?”

  “Remember when I told you I couldn’t remember anything from my time at the Territory?”

  “Of course,” she answered. “We programmed all subjects to have very limited short-term memory, because it would have made things much more complicated. And then you hit your head when you ran away, which may well have made your memory even worse.”

  I pointed at the man in the red jacket who was talking to Mrs. Huggle. “Well then, why do I think I remember him?”

  My mom looked up, and as soon as she saw the man I was talking about, her whole face changed. It was like she saw a ghost. (Or a zombie.) But she shook her head.

  “I’m not sure.” And then out of nowhere, she turned to my dad. “Honey? I’m actually not feeling that well, and Arnold is bored as usual. We’re going to go home.”

  My dad looked shocked. “You’re leaving? It’s not even halftime! And they’re about to take the lead!”

  “I know, honey, and I can’t wait to hear all about it.” My mom grabbed my hand. “Let’s go, Arnold.”

  As we made our way out of the bleachers, I looked down at the man one last time. And then, for the first time, he looked at me, nodded, and smiled.

  I suddenly knew where I’d seen him before.

  And I knew why he was there.

  The principal of our school was a woman named Dr. Principal.

  I am not making that up.

  Everyone seemed to think that was the most hilarious thing in the world, except for Dr. Principal herself. She didn’t think it was hilarious at all. “When you make a joke about it that I haven’t heard before, then I’ll laugh,” is what she would say. I can’t say that I blame her.

  For a couple of days after the football game, my family acted like nothing was wrong. Lester’s team won the game 28–16, and we had our usual celebratory dinner of fried chicken and ice cream. (I watched.) I could tell something was off with my mom, and I think she could tell something was off with me. But neither of us said anything about it, almost as if we both wished it away.

  Then, on Monday, my parents told me that we were having a meeting in Dr. Principal’s office before school.

  “What about?” I asked.

  “It’s nothing bad,” said my dad.

  When we got there, Dr. Principal and my teacher, Mrs. Huggle, were sitting there.

  So was the man from the football game.

  “Welcome,” said Dr. Principal. “Please sit down.”

  We did.

  She cleared her throat. “Arnold, I received a call on Friday from the state police, stating that they had become aware of an undocumented fugitive attending school here.” She nodded in the direction of the stranger. “They had been tipped off by this man, Dr. Sherman Grasmere. So last night, I asked your parents to come in this morning to discuss the matter.”

  I turned to my parents. “Is this true?”

  My mom nodded. “Yes. Dr. Grasmere is a former colleague of mine from the National Laboratory.”

  I could feel my ears vibrating. “You said you didn’t know why I recognized him.”

  My mom looked at her shoes. “I wasn’t being truthful, and I’m sorry.”

  Dr. Grasmere stood up and extended his hand to me. I shook it. It was warm, of course. All human hands are warm.

  “You didn’t go by Arnold when I knew you,” he said. “So you do remember me?”

  I nodded. “I think so.”

  “I thought you might. Memories are powerful things—no matter how much we might try to manipulate them. And brains tend to have minds of their own.” Dr. Grasmere smiled and stroked his short gray beard. “Dr. Kinder and I were partners on Project Z for quite some time, and I’m very proud of what we accomplished.”

  “Project Z?” asked Mrs. Huggle.

  My mom cleared her throat. “That was
the code name of the confidential federal program under which we worked,” she explained. “Sherman and I co-directed the lab for three years, until I left. I didn’t like where the program was headed.” She looked at Dr. Grasmere carefully. “Sherman stayed. And I believe he’s still there.”

  “I am,” the doctor confirmed. He took out a big red folder and placed it on the table in front of him but didn’t open it. “Dr. Kinder referred to Project Z. I think everyone here knows what this top secret program is all about, but just to briefly reiterate, we have been developing a species of afterlife humans.”

  “You mean zombies,” said Dr. Principal.

  Dr. Grasmere nodded. “Correct, zombies, although that is not the technical term.” He picked up his folder. “The original plan was to develop these afterlife humans into a fighting force that would invade American society, thus necessitating a national military response. The idea was that our increasingly fractured nation could become more united through the historically unifying cause of fighting a common enemy.”

  “I ended up opposing this plan,” said my mom. “That’s why I left. And why I tried to help several afterlifes escape. The only one who made it was you.” She grabbed my hand, and I squeezed back.

  Mrs. Huggle raised her hand, even though she was the teacher. “When the Kinders adopted Arnold, the entire community rallied behind them, and we have all been sworn to secrecy. So I am curious to know how you found Arnold.”

  Dr. Grasmere shook his head. “That’s not something I can discuss right now, and it’s not why I’m here. I have no interest in turning anyone in. In fact, I’m here to help.”

  My dad spoke for the first time. “Help? How?”

  Dr. Grasmere picked up his folder. “We have been doing a great deal of research, and we have come to see the validity of Dr. Kinder’s thinking. As a result, the original plan to create a common enemy out of the afterlifes is no longer viable.” He paused briefly as he looked down at the folder. “We have a new plan in place, which we’d like to implement as soon as possible.”

  The school bell rang.

  Dr. Principal stood up. “Well, saved by the bell, as they say,” she said. “As important as this is, it can’t be more important than our students attending school. So, Mrs. Huggle and Arnold, you should go ahead to first class. Dr. and Mr. Kinder, perhaps you can stay and discuss this turn of events with our guest. You may use the conference room next to my office, if you wish.”