Zombie at the Plate

The problem with staying up until 3 AM grinding that zombie apocalypse game wasn't the dark circles under my eyes—it was the way my entire body had apparently declared independence from my brain. I shambled onto the baseball field like the actual undead, cleats dragging through the dirt, while Coach Miller's whistle cut through my fog like a chainsaw.

"Hustle up, Martinez! You're moving like you're already dead!" Nice. He had no idea how accurate that was.

This was it. The final day of baseball tryouts, and I was operating on two hours of sleep and three Mountain Dews. The water fountain at the edge of the field had become my new best friend—my only friend, really, since Sarah had barely looked at me all week.

"You good, bro?" Marcus asked from behind the batting cage, grinning like he knew exactly why I'd been up all night. His stupid video game invitation. "You look rough."

"I'm good," I lied, wiping sweat from my forehead. "Just need some water."

The water fountain was that kind that shot a weak stream sideways, like it was trying to help but also kinda hated its job. I bent down, and of course—OF COURSE—Sarah walked past just as water ricocheted off my chin and down the front of my jersey. A wet patch bloomed across my chest like I'd had some kind of embarrassing accident.

She didn't even laugh. That was worse.

"Last chance, Martinez!" Coach Miller yelled. "Show me something or you're running laps instead of hitting bases!"

Something in me snapped. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation, maybe it was the way Sarah kept glancing at the dugout where Marcus sat with his perfect hair and his stupid zombie game scores. Whatever. I stepped into the batter's box, gripping the bat like I had nothing left to lose. Because I didn't.

The pitch came—fast, outside corner. My body moved before my brain caught up. That zombie instinct. Pure reaction. The crack of the bat echoed across the field like a gunshot, and I watched the ball sail over the left field fence, a perfect arc against the sky.

I turned around. Sarah was actually smiling. Marcus's jaw had dropped.

"Not bad for a walking corpse," Marcus called out, shaking his head.

I trudged back toward the water fountain, suddenly feeling more alive than I had in days. Whatever happened next, at least I'd go down swinging.