Disclaimer: Who knew everyone wanted a Hey! Arnold zombie fic? If I'd known it was going to be this popular, I would have actually started publishing it a lot sooner! By the way. Do you guys really not pick up on some of the stuff I write in here, or do you just find it far too heavy to comment on in reviews? Oh, I gave Peapod Kid an actual name because I highly doubt his parents would have named him that, and Mr. Simmons doesn't strike me as the type to call him Peapod, let alone Peapod Kid.
HA
The kids all watched as the woman took off the cap covering most of her head, revealing ridiculously short, spiky dark brown hair, with just a touch of the dreaded hat hair. Running her fingers through it a few times to break it away from her scalp, she shoved the cap in her back pocket before turning to her duffle bag. Not long after she began sifting through her portable arsenal, she could feel all the little eyes burning into her back, and so slowly returned to meet their gazes. The room was quiet for a time as they just sat, watching one another, before Mr. Simmons cleared his throat.
"Well, my that was a very special display of survival tactics." He began, to which all the woman did was raise an eyebrow in mock interest. Being met with the figurative brick wall, the older teacher decided to try again.
"I'm Robert Simmons, fourth grade teacher here, and these are my students; Phoebe, Gerald, Arnold, Sheena, Harold, Stinky, Lila, Sid, Robert, Curly, Rhonda, Nadine, Eugene, Iggy, Park, Brainy, Joey, Lorenzo, Torvald, Peter, and Helga" Her dark brown eyes catching Helga's, the two shared a brief moment of unspoken thanks.
"Chava." All but Harold, Curly, Phoebe and Helga looked at her strangely, trying to decide for themselves if she had said Chava, Chaya, Haya, Hava, or some other strange variation they couldn't comprehend. In honesty, it sounded like she was clearing her throat.
"Life or serpent?" Harold asked boldly, and Chava eyed him coolly before smirking.
"You be the judge of that. So I'm guessing you've been here since the beginning, huh? That's rough, especially for brats your age. And who was the one pickin 'em off outside? Was it you?" Mr. Simmons looked genuinely surprised when she pointed to him, holding up his hands and shaking his head.
"Me? Oh heavens no. I'm nearsighted." Chava certainly didn't miss the elbow jab the little Asian girl gave Helga, figuring as much. Anyone that good with a gun, no matter what their age, was a force to be reckoned with. Shaking off her thoughts, Chava began taking a quick stock of what she had left in her duffle bag, this time ignoring the stares at her back. Wandering over to the woman, Helga quietly stood by her side as the others slunk back into their little cliques and groups, trying to find a way to kill time until something happened; the dark haired woman watched her out of the corner of her eye for a few minutes before the little girl decided to talk.
"So, where're you headed?" Chava sighed, before pulling Helga down to her level so the others wouldn't hear what she had to say.
"Listen kid, I don't know what or who you think I am, but I am not here to rescue you. I'm simply here to save my own ass, gather up supplies, and then I'll be on my way." Helga nodded at her honesty, then suddenly changed her demeanor from curious to diplomatic.
"And you listen to me lady; I don't care what or who you are. But I need your help; I mean, look at them; I have to take care of all of those poor saps. I'm only ten, I can't do it by myself." Motioning to her classmates, Helga fought hard to drive her point home, and Chava had to admit, they were a pathetic looking ragtag group of survivors.
"What about Simmons?"
"Might as well be one of them; guy is useful, but not nearly as useful as you."
"I don't want you on my conscience should you not make it."
"I hate to break it to you sister, but it doesn't matter now if you take or leave us. Take us and we could die on your watch, leave us and you'll always be thinking about if we lived or died. Like it or not, it was out of your hands the second we made eye contact." Chava had to hand it to her, the girl was a skilled negotiator.
"Give me one good reason why I should haul your butts along."
"We all have some sort of skill that you can use."
"That's something you'll have to prove. Nice, try again."
"I can get you out of the school, as well as transportation."
*.*.*
Arnold looked over in time to see Helga and that new woman, Chava shake hands, each with a cat that ate the canary smirk. Chava stood suddenly, stepped onto an upright desk, and began snapping her fingers in order to get everyone's attention.
"Kids, Oi! Listen up! I want you all to get in a line. Come on, line up right now." Sid stepped forward with his hand partially raised.
"Does it matter what order?"
"Do you want to live? What am I saying? Just get in line!" There was much mumbling, and Arnold could pick up Stinky reckoning she woke up on the wrong side of the bed.
"Ok, who here knows how to use any sort of weapon accurately?"
Helga, Phoebe, Stinky, Gerald, Torvald, and surprisingly, Curly, all raised their hands. Only Arnold caught the low fist bump shared between Helga and Curly.
"Ah-huh. And how many of you can cook, without modern day conveniences?"
Helga, Phoebe, Stinky, Lila, Nadine, Sheena, Arnold and Sid.
"Hm, and how many of you would be able to safely and accurately identify plants?"
Phoebe, Sid, Nadine, and Peapod Kid; Helga raised her hand, but quickly shook it to show she knew some, but not much.
"And how many of you would be able to use that knowledge for medical purposes; and know anything about medicine beyond first aide?"
Phoebe.
"You two are quickly become my favorite survivors." She joked towards Phoebe and Helga, before turning back to address the others.
"From today on, you will all be learning these basic survival skills, because those creatures out there are not your friends, are not your family, are not even human. They will eat you, they will kill you, in that order given the chance. At dawn tomorrow we will begin our escape, right now I will break you up into groups, and we'll prepare for the morning.
"Helga, I need you to lead a squad down to the sick bay; gather any and all medications we might need. You'll take Phoebe, that kid, that kid, that kid, and those two.
"Bowl cut kid, you take a squad down the kitchens; if it's not spoiled, take it. You, you, you, you, you, and you go with him.
"And Wheezy, you'll lead the rest of them. I need your squad to stay here and forge any sort of weapon with whatever you can find; you'll also be doing some basic training with me since none of you have any sort of known skill with a weapon.
"Simmons, do you have a couple of stopwatches?" for the first time since giving her orders, Chava waited for a response from the slightly overwhelmed teacher.
"A wha-? Oh, OH! Yes, why, I should have some right – let's see where did I stick – ah-ha! Here they are." Digging through his desk, Simmons searched frantically in a plethora of drawers before finding what he was looking for – they were going to be using those stopwatches when they built CO2 cars next week. Handing them over to the woman in charge, she quickly turned to Helga and Curly, handing them each a time piece.
"I want each squad out to have a stopwatch; since it's getting late today, as soon as you hit fifteen minutes, I want you to turn around and come straight back to this classroom – I don't care what you're doing or how important you think it is, you drop what you are doing and get right back here. If you aren't back in thirty, I will consider you overcome and therefore lost to us. The door will be barricaded behind you, so when you get back I want you to knock out S.O.S. in Morse Code." Dot-dot-dot-dash-dash-dash-dot-dot-dot.
"By doing this you declare yourself a squad and not a zombie, and we'll cover you if need be as you reenter the classroom. Any questions?" Helga and Curly, thinking the same thing, both saluted their commander as they shook their heads.
"Good. Each squad take one gun and any debris you see usable for a blunt object. And remember, thirty minutes or I consider you dead."
Helga's squad, consisting of Phoebe, Arnold, Nadine, Gerald, Sid and Stinky, went to work collecting the legs of desks and chairs that had been blown off, while Curly's group of Joey, Park, Robert, Sheena, Iggy and Torvald grabbed dislodged pieces of who knows what. When the fourteen of them made it out the door some three minutes later, Helga and Curly decided they would travel together for as long as they could.
With the Gammelthorpe in the front and Helga bringing up the rear, the groups moved quickly and quietly through the halls of P.S. 118, trying to ignore the run down facilities, and the smell of death. Without the power on, the kids were forced to rely on the natural light let in through the windows, but the shadows were still many. Shadows that were cruel to Helga's mind, tricking her into thinking she saw something she didn't.
"Curly, does anyone in your squad have a sling shot?" she called up quietly when one peculiar shadow moved in a way it shouldn't.
"No, why?" Helga groaned, motioning Phoebe over as the groups kept moving. Arnold watched with interest as Phoebe nodded and walked away from her friend, into the darkness. Helga slowed down, not enough to be noticeable, but enough should her friend need her. A thump was heard, and they all tensed as Phoebe rejoined the group, the end of her flagpole red, and none were the wiser.
None save Arnold.
"Good luck Curly." Helga wished once they had reached the divider hallway that would split them into two groups. Curly held out his hand, and the two shook with what seemed to be friendship.
"You as well, Helga."
And that was that. The squad leaders turned away from each other, and began their paths in separate directions. Thirty feet down their hallway, Arnold stepped up to Helga, curiosity on his face as he momentarily forgot the situation around them.
"When did you and Curly get that friendly, Helga?" he asked as they rounded a corner and entered the nurse's station. Carefully avoiding the now rotten corpse of Shelly, Phoebe led the way to the medicine cabinet, and began taking every drug off the shelf and placing it in her book bag. Nadine, who also brought a book bag, was going through all the drawers in search of syringes, bandages, medical tap, antiseptic, and anything else that could be useful.
"Since he came in second in the District 8 City Paintball Championship last year. Ok guys, set up a small perimeter, keep watch around Phoebe and Nadine while they grab the supplies. Arnold, eye the door, Stinky that window, Gerald, the door to my left, Sid, the curtains. If anything moves, don't hesitate to use force."
Given their tasks, everyone moved quickly into position, Helga gave the gun she had taken from Chava, a moderately sized handgun, to Stinky as she took the flagpole from Phoebe. All was going smoothly, until Arnold noticed movement out of the door frame. Slow and swift, he was out the door, looking in all directions, the leg of the chair held high in his arms. Wandering away from the door and down the hallway, he tried to spot the movement again; but when he couldn't find it, decided to turn back before Helga killed him.
That was when he came face to face with Ruth MacDougal.
Helga whipped her head around the room. Where had that idiot gone off to? And disobeying her direct order? Heads would roll. A sudden thump from outside the door had everyone on edge, and Helga instantly knew where he was.
"Stay here; do not move unless you are about to get eaten." As she was out the door, a few of them could swear they heard her growl out Football Head.
The leg fell from his grasp as he stumbled backwards, too stunned to speak. Ruth was a mess; her hair was matted to her head and face, her eyes were fogged over with death, her skin was starting to bloat, and she had a large gaping wound on her calf. All around her mouth was red, and Arnold didn't want to speculate on what it was, nor how it got there. A moan moved passed her lips as she reached for him, slowly but with a purpose.
"Ru-ruth?" he stuttered out, backing away from her as she grew closer. Her arm outstretched and suddenly her mouth opened in a snarl as she dive bombed for his own forearm when –
WHACK!
Helga hit her upside the head with a huge amount of force, holding the flagpole like a baseball bat. The force was enough to knock Ruth onto the ground, where Helga stepped on her back and swiftly brought the pointed eagle down into the sixth grader's skull. Twisting it twice, just to be sure, Helga grunted as she ripped the end out of the zombie head.
Ruth didn't move.
"Football Head! Next time don't go out alone! What, do you have some kind of death wish?" Arnold just stared at the corpse of Ruth MacDougal, coagulated blood attempting to pour from her head as Helga scolded him.
"You-you killed her." He muttered, and Helga stopped mid rant to look at him. He was still watching her – the zombie that tried to eat him – and had the audacity to look mournful. Deflating, Helga grabbed his arm and pulled him back to the sick bay entrance where the rest of the squad was waiting for them. She didn't reprimand them for disobeying her orders, simply traded the flagpole for the gun and led the return trip. A few shots rang out, echoing through the deserted hallways, and the group picked up speed.
They ran into Curly's group back where they separated, and Helga immediately noticed that they had picked up another survivor.
"Hey Patty." Helga greeted solemnly, which Patty returned.
"Gammelthorpe, what they hell were you thinking? They're attracted to sound, you know that." Curly had the decency to look partially guilty, before pointing over his shoulder. The kids could make out two forms on the ground; one of a skinny older man, and slumped over him was a large man.
"Isn't that Mr. Packenham?" Phoebe asked, while Nadine turned away. Patty closed her eyes while Curly looked Helga dead in the eye.
"It was Mr. Packenham." Helga nodded, giving the other form a once over before turning back towards their classroom.
"I hope you took care of the problem then, Gammelthorpe. We better get moving, the thirty is almost up and I can already hear the others being drawn towards those gunshots," after a few minutes of quiet moving, Helga voiced her other thoughts, "At least we now know what happened to Wartz."
~O~
Patty had revealed, once they were all back in the safety of the classroom, that she had been holed up in room 205 with Mr. Packenham, when Wartz joined them a few days ago. He had looked a little worse for wear, but seemed fine. Today, though, it was learned that he had been bitten and thus infected by one of the zombies when he tried to take a chunk out of her. Mr. Packenham fought him off, but was overcome by the larger man, and Wartz was content to eat him while Patty could do nothing but hide and watch. That is, until Curly's squad came upon her and shot both faculty members in the head.
The evening progressed quietly after that.
It was a little past ten at night, and all the students were asleep, save for Helga who was watching the street below through a peephole. To her credit, she sat far enough away from Chava and Simmons, and pretended not to listen to them talk quietly as she watched. For all the adults knew, she really wasn't listening.
Whatever the case, Chava was grateful to the little girl.
"Do you have any kids?" Mr. Simmons asked in the darkness as they sat back against his desk, staring out into nothing.
"I had a toddler, a daughter named Nora," she grew quiet for a long time, but Mr. Simmons didn't dare break her thoughts, "I will never forget the image of my daughter when she was no longer mine. Her little legs running towards me, arms reached out, not in love but in rage and hunger. Her mouth snapping at me as she tried to bite." Astounded by what he was hearing, Mr. Simmons could only sit and listen.
"Her frail little body against mine as I held her after shooting her in the head."
Clearing his throat, Robert Simmons let her know that he couldn't listen anymore. She nodded in the darkness, completely understanding.
"You better watch over your kids well, Robert. Nothing is harder than losing them twice."
"But I don't have any children.
"Yes you do. You are the father to all these kids now. The moment this shit hit the fan, their families were lost. You're the only one they have left."
The pair let the conversation drop for quite some time. Maybe it was ten minutes, maybe an hour. Time was irrelevant now.
"So, what were you before the end of the world?" Chava asked casually, as if she had never told him of her child. The question threw him off, but after thinking about it for a moment, Mr. Simmons answered.
"I was a teacher."
Her laughter was soft, and he found it pleasing to hear after all that they had been through in the last week.
"I didn't ask you what you did, I asked what you were." He thought about it some more, before trying again.
"I was a gay man."
And there was that laughter again.
"You mean you aren't anymore?"
She was making this difficult. Several minutes went by as he thought about how to better answer her tricky question. Finally, he believed he came across the answer.
"I was a hopeless romantic."
The laughter was softer and accepting this time, and he knew he answered correctly.
"So? What were you before the end of the world?" Even though he couldn't see it, he could tell she was smiling.
"I was a conspiracy theorist."
*.*.*
Helga sat by the window, looking out through the peephole and into nothing. Her mind was lost in thought, revolving around the events earlier in the day. She had saved his life. She saved his life. If she hadn't followed him when she did, he would have been eaten by that zombie. And even if she had been even one second later, Ruth would have gotten a good chunk out of his flesh, and then she would have had no other choice but to put them both down. He should be thanking her.
But what does he do instead? He whines about her killing an already dead girl, doesn't look at her, doesn't thank her, nothing. Just mourns over the twice dead body of a girl who never even knew he existed until she wanted to eat him. Doesn't it figure?
Even dead he chose Ruth MacDougal over her.
Now that she thought about it, aside from Chava she was probably the only one that was adequately ready for survival. She had aim, knew what her objectives were, and was able to put surviving above bonds if need be. After all, she had killed her own father two days ago, hadn't she? And while she may not have gotten along with any of her family, she still loved them, and it still hurt.
It hurt just as much as Arnold pinning over a zombie instead of thanking her for saving his life. What kind of jerk doesn't thank the person who saved their butt from a painful, gruesome death? Maybe I just won't go out of my way to save him anymore, she thought to herself with a smirk.
Yet even as she thought that she knew it was a lie.
HA