Our Parents Might Be Zombies!

Katherine Selby 2025

Denny walked into Fig’s room, flopped down on the bed, and let out a deep sigh.

“Mom brought home road kill again.”

“Yeah, I can smell it. What ‘experiment’ does she claim they’re working on now?”

“Dunno, but Dad was pretty excited about it. Clapped his hands and rubbed them, like he couldn’t wait to get at it.”

“It could all be as innocent as they say; that they are working on how to prevent bacteria from destroying live or recently live tissue.”

The twins looked at each other, rolled their eyes, and burst out laughing.

“Hahaha! I’ll believe that when we are allowed to see the lab downstairs!”

“But, I mean, do we really think that our parents are undead? They haven’t tried to eat us yet…” They both started laughing again, though with a certain unease.

During dinner, the family chatted about the day’s events: How was school? How was work? Did you take that algebra test? While it seemed to be a perfectly normal meal, there was an undercurrent of both suspicion from the kids and evasiveness from the adults.

“This can’t go on,” said Denny later that night. “We’ve got to get into that basement to see what’s happening. I’m going mad with the suspense!”

“I agree,” Fern nodded. “But the door is never left unlocked, even when they are in there.”

“Wait,” said Denny. “The science fair is next Saturday, and Mom and Dad are always judges. Maybe we can figure out a way to get downstairs while they’re out for the day.”

Throughout the week, Denny would sneak closer looks at the lock on the basement door and report back to Fern, who would do a little research.

“According to a couple of sites, the best way to pick a lock like this is with a dummy key, you know, like a new key but not cut for a specific lock. We can get one at the hardware store on the way home from school.” Fern frowned at the screen. “Hmm. It says here that there is about a 50/50 chance it’ll work.”

They decided to take the chance. The following weekend, when their parents had headed off to the school for the fair, they got to work. They took turns, one being a lookout and the other trying different ways to manipulate the dummy key in the lock. Fern was working the lock when she suddenly froze.

“What’s up?” asked Denny.

“I think I did it,” whispered Fern.

Figuring there was only about an hour before the fair ended, they slowly opened the basement door. Hesitating at the top of the steps, they looked at each other and held hands tightly before descending.

The scene that lay before them was not exactly what they had been anticipating; it was much more. Lab tables lined the walls of the room, which seemed bigger than the upper floors of the whole house. Each table had microscopes, large syringes, a number of gas burners, and glass containers filled with liquid each one holding a different dead animal. A few contained what looked like human hands. There was a centrifuge in one corner with vials for spinning specimens, and in the opposite corner was a decontamination shower. Protective equipment hung on pegs: bibs, lab coats, goggles, full face masks, and a variety of gloves from thin latex to massive rubber ones.

“Holy Cow!” Fern whispered. Denny was speechless. They walked around the space, looking at the various items and pausing occasionally to inspect the contents of the large jars. Next to each microscope was a notebook with dates, chemical formulas, and figures that were incomprehensible. Some had drawings next to the formulas, and several of the drawings looked very familiar.

“Oh my gosh, that’s us!” cried Denny. “Yep,” agreed Fern, “and that’s us looking like, well, zombies.”

They were so fascinated—and sickened—by what they saw, they didn’t hear their parents come home. Seeing the basement door open, the two scientists hurried to the door and down the stairs, almost falling head over heels in their rush. When they landed with a thud, the twins turned and just stared at them, mouths gaping like goldfish starved for oxygen.

“I think you have some explaining to do,” said the kids.

“I think we have some explaining to do,” said their Mom and Dad at the same time. “Let’s go upstairs first.”

A while later as they were gathered around the table sipping hot chocolate, the kids had several more questions to ask.

“So, let me get this straight,” started Denny. “You’ve been bringing home road kill all this time not because you two are zombies and need the dead flesh, but because we are?”

“No, you’re not. Not yet, anyway,” said Dad. “You both know you’re adopted. But what you don’t know is that you come from a line of people who have a genetic mutation that can cause kids to turn into zombies once they reach a certain age.”

“That’s right,” said Mom. “And Dad and I have been doing our best to find a cure or vaccine to prevent that. We inject the meat with serum containing the genetic mutation, then vaccinate it and see if the mutation does, or hopefully does not, take effect.”

“So, how’s it going so far?” asked the twins, raising their eyebrows.

“We’ve made some progress,” their father shrugged. “But it’s not perfect.”

“And that means there is still the possibility of us turning into zombies?”

“Well, yes, but we’re not actually trying to prevent that from happening….” said Mom.

“I’m sorry, come again?” said Denny.

“Our ultimate goal is not to prevent you from becoming zombies, but to help you be impervious to damage from the infection so that you can fight off the full zombies. Because, kids, the zombie apocalypse is coming. And only you two can stop it.”