The sun had long since set and a bitter cold crept onto campus as I hurried into Cro to find the survivors of the latest zombie-apocalypse to hit our campus. The humans were holding a meeting due to an alarming development that day: a very important member of their kind was trapped in South Campus, and time was running out before the zombies would get to him and paint the walls of Harkness common room with his brains. That night I accompanied them on a rescue mission as an onlooker — and the only unarmed member of the group.
As I ascended the stairs to the landing outside of the 1941 room that Monday night, a group of humans was talking concernedly about the matter at hand. Their pockets bulged with balled-up socks and collectively they possessed the largest assortment of Nerf guns I have ever seen; there were Raiders, Mavericks, Longstrikes, Retaliators and many more — all capable of launching lethal foam projectiles to the peril of any zombie unlucky enough to be standing in their path. Clearly these folks meant business. “I don’t see the advantage of an extended barrel,” said James Robinson ’16, tightly gripping the rifle slung around his body. “It doesn’t improve range or accuracy.”
“Okay, guys, listen up,” said Andrew Steel ’14, the apparent leader of the group.
“Here’s what’s happened. Listen!” The throng surrounding them grew half silent.
“Professor Ceckard Dain is trapped in Harkness common room and we have to save him.”
All listened as he briefed them on the situation. Because of his research, the professor was crucial to understanding and stopping the onslaught of the undead that has begun to plague the campus in recent days. Tonight the brave survivors who ditched their homework and answered the call to arms would have to escort him to Olin, where he could acquire his research, then to Harris Dining, where he could have his first meal in several days.
Everyone was excited as they planned their approach and the sounds of plastic rifles being cocked filled the air. “I’m pumped, ready to blow some heads in,” said Jake Schwartz ’14 as he chambered a round in his Maverick. But no one could really agree on a plan of action. Several humans with some especially large guns, Robinson among them, broke from the group. I followed them as they ran down into the 1962 room. Looking towards the exit, however, the dead were already waiting, their breath condensing on the glass doors and the hunger for human flesh gleaming in their soulless eyes. “Side door!” someone shouted, and we ran the other way, bursting out into the cold air with weapons pointed in all directions.
The next moment we were running towards Harkness as fast as we could. While the campus provides a beautiful environment for one to pursue a degree in Liberal Arts, it is a nightmare when it comes to surviving repeated attacks from the hungry undead; any of the meticulously kept shrubs, trees and gardens provides an ideal hiding place for the rather crafty zombies to spring out on an unsuspecting human and make dental floss out of their shoulder ligaments before they have time to fire a single shot or throw a single sock ball. Under the cover of darkness traversing mid-campus was all the more terrifying. But shadows were the only thing to stoke our fears at the moment; otherwise, campus was silent. Where had those zombies gone? Where were the rest of them?
We reached our goal and easily secured the Professor. “There was no good TV,” he said in a thick and rather forced Eastern-European accent. “I had to watch movies on Lifetime the whole time; it was terrible!” Once we escorted him across Tempel Green to Olin, where he had gotten his books and redoubled our forces, we were Harris-bound.
Delirious from hunger and craving the breakfast bar, the Professor proved to be more difficult to escort than expected. “We must go there straight-a-way,” he said as he walked towards a dark patch of fir trees. “Oh, no, you don’t,” said Steel, his nerves clearly frayed as he grabbed the wayward scientist. “Look behind you!” shouted people in the group to a couple of humans who decided to go ahead of the pack. The air grew hostile as we crossed onto Larrabee Green and saw zombies outside Cro and the clackety-clack of rifles filled the air from all sides. We reached the sloping lawn of Harris when a zombie with long blonde hair in a pink Nantucket sweater ran out from the pines by the MOBROC barn. Several blasts from a Nerf gun silenced her screams. We reached Harris safely. The attackers were at bay for now and the Professor, expressing his gratitude to us all, put his research aside and set to inducing himself into a food coma.
“Park? Anybody who lives in Park, come over here. Mid-campus anyone? Who’s going to Wright?” With the mission accomplished, everyone had to figure out how to get back to their rooms safely — this time without the safety of a large pack almost twenty strong. I broke off with a group heading towards Cro Boulevard. With tense nerves, we made our way through the OVCS parking lot, when the bush outside the radio station came to life. Next, zombies appeared, rushing through trees on our right side. “Ambush!” The bush had been a distraction. How could we have been so foolish? Once again foray ensued, eventually sending the zombies running off hungry.
“It makes you so paranoid,” said Jesse Edwards ’15, still panting from the skirmish, which had been closer than they expected. He and his friends made their way towards Blackstone.
I returned to Cro to see Sophia Corsaro ’14 dash up the stairs, Maverick in hand.
Two zombies looked on longingly after her as she frolicked within the safe zone.
“Gotta actually do some homework now.”
Up on the couches, I stumbled upon the blonde zombie hammering away on her Macbook, a copy of James Joyce’s Ulysses at her side.
“How do you feel about the humans’ success tonight?” I queried.
“Brains!”
“Could you elaborate any further?” I asked.
“Braiiiiiinnnns!”
Although the humans had somehow managed to prevent their death toll from rising that night, the appetites of the undead were only further whetted, and the light of day would provide no respite from the onslaught. A breakthrough from Professor Dain is highly anticipated, but until then the sight of Nerf guns and multi-colored bandanas will be as common as LL Bean boots and red pants, and the fight will continue until the last foam dart is fired.
