BETTER SAFE THAN ZOMBIE

OZTS 17| Tag, You're It

As we watched, the girl swung the sock again, and an audible thump resounded as it collided with the already caved in head of the zombie.

"Nice," said Hazel approvingly, appearing beside me. "She managed to make a lethal weapon that she could use without training."

I raised an eyebrow, watching as the girl kicked the zombie, testing if it was still alive. Then she swung the sock again, just for good measure.

"What is she doing?" Ethan asked, just as the adults came out of the car. "Is she really killing that zombie with a sock?"

"Berserker weapon," replied Hazel. "Its commonly used by people without training, since handling a gun or a specialized weapon takes skill. Basically, you just go berserk with it, like a bat or an ax, which you just swing with wild abandon."

"Let's pretend I understood any of that," said Ethan. "But let me just repeat myself: is she really killing that zombie with a sock?"

"Its filled with rocks," said Hazel, rolling her eyes. "Or car keys, or coins and batteries, or basically any hard object she could stuff in it. It creates a rough outline, so when it collides with someone's head with repeated swings, that someone is usually--" she made a slashing motion across her throat, grinning at me.

I didn't grin back. Her knowledge of improvised weapons is scary.

"Are you alright?"

Mrs. Blake had walked past us and stopped a meter away from the dead body of the zombie, crouching down to offer the little girl a gentle smile.

But the girl stepped back, her expression turning into suspicion. I realized she was wearing a Girl Scout Uniform, but instead of the beige vest that I used to wear, hers were brown. Badges were strewn around it, and I recognized the American flag patch, the Journey Award badges, and the insignia tab with its two pins.

A Brownie, I thought, which meant that she was only seven or eight years old--close enough to my guess. Brownies were grades two and three.

"We're not going to hurt you," said Mrs. Blake, her voice calm and soothing. "We're not like the bad people you just fought with. We're good people."

Hazel scowled. "This just reminded me of something. I think it was your fault, Ethan."

"Oh?" He replied, giving her a pointed look. "I think I wasn't the one who ran like an idiot in the snow and fell into an obvious trap."

The girl was still wary, her sock ready to swing again at her side. Mrs. Blake sighed and looked at us.

"Any of you girls care to try?" she asked.

For once Hazel didn't try to argue against Ethan and instead strode confidently towards the girl, neatly sidestepping the zombie carcass.

"Hi," she said brightly, crouching down to look the girl in the eye. "I'm Hazel. Can you tell me your--whoa!"

The girl had swung the sock, and Hazel barely managed to lean back to avoid it. She stood up and backed away, raising her palms.

"Okay, Kath, I give up. You try to tame this little beast."

I sighed, since I really didn't know how to talk to children. I was the youngest in my family, and most of my other relatives never visit us.

I stopped a few feet away from the little girl, since my reflex skills at dodging weren't as good as Hazel's. There's a good chance that if she swings that sock, a new landscape might form in my head.

"Hello," I said, meeting her eyes. They were light brown, and easy to read. Her hair was blond but a bit darker than mine, and messy. It must have been braided before, but now it looked like something a bird might lay an egg on, and scrapes and dirt almost covered her skin.