Utility Part V

 

Ironwood Elementary loomed before Franklin. The few zombies were history that much was certain, but he still needed a way to get inside. The answer came by way of his nose.

The stale tang of cigarette smoke wafted towards him. There was just enough scent being carried on the temperate desert breeze to flirt with his olfactory sense.

Franklin smiled, the tattered edges of his makeup curled along with his lips. He approached the open window carefully. Peering into the room he saw no one. Quietly, for he was certain there were reanimated corpses inside, he tossed in his satchel. When no shuffling or groans followed it, he hopped in quickly behind it.

Franklin mused; The dead don’t smoke, unless you douse them with gasoline. But everyone with half a brain knows, the only thing worse than a zombie is a flaming zombie.  

He saw the office again for the first time. He had spent what had seemed like days sitting on the other side of that principal’s desk but that had been over a half decade ago. The walls retained their drab blue, a color Franklin had always thought was chosen to make nervy students more emotional, further depressed so that the administration could increase the level of punishment accordingly.

And that’s all it was, Franklin thought, punishment. It never did a damn thing to impact his behavior.

After glancing around he toyed with the idea of leaving the window open, sure he might have to make a hasty getaway if in fact this place was crawling with hundreds of deceased school children. How many attended this school when he was here? 200, 400? But then again, the smoke…

Franklin lowered the window, without closing it. Compromise. He scooped up his satchel, and readied his ax.

He was about to try the door and enter the hallway when he had a thought. Turning his attention to the wall of awards, and other items that meant nothing in this current form of the world, he scanned for a name. Hmm, guess ole’ Aaron Ansell (or as the kids pronounced it in that sing-songy voice youreanasshole) up and retired.

Franklin opened the door, ready for a horde of 1st graders to begin nipping at his heels. Instead, he was confronted only by an empty hallway. Franklin too realized he must be hungry, as his nose now picked up the faint scent of cafeteria pizza. “Mmm cardboard crust and soy sausage.”  His eyes rolled, and seemingly to spite them, his stomach gurgled happily.

Franklin followed the scent. He had a hunch it was coming from the cafeteria, and after attending school in this place for five years, he well knew where that was, so he went.

Hearing the muffled but innumerable sound of several beings shambling aimlessly, Franklin paused in front of room 124. He shook his head in disgust and disappointment.

He let one hand trail against the wall, stepping swiftly, ax held aloft. Gradually, he heard several people talking as he neared the closest entry point to the lunch room. By the time he was within reach of the doors, the pair of them swung open violently and a man stormed out, carrying two sorry looking slices of pizza, and muttering angrily to himself.

Franklin couldn’t see his face, as luckily the man turned the direction opposite Franklin and walked away as if he had something long and pointy shoved up his backside.

He waited silently, listening to the rest of what was most certainly an argument about a lost (or possibly stolen) maintenance keys.

Food storage, Franklin hoped. And if it was lost he knew just how to find it.

Franklin swung open the cafeteria doors, like he was entering a Wild West saloon. “Hello everyone. I am the man that just exploded about a dozen zombies just outside your doors. But I come in peace.” The group in the café sat transfixed on him, quickly forgetting about keys and potential thievery altogether. Franklin chuckled, “Oh, and pay no mind to the makeup, it’s for funsies.”