Girl Z: My Life As A Teenage Zombie (15 page)

Our bags packed and set by the door, Carm mad at me, and my aunt busy elsewhere left me with nothing to do but sit and think. Grabbing my cell phone, I punched in the number for my mom's phone. It rang and rang and rang. I texted her, hoping she'd answer. Next, I Googled my mom's friend, Grace Carlton, got her address, and punched in her number. No answer, either, and no way to message her.

Curious, I pulled out a Wisconsin road map I'd tossed one day in my drawer for some unknown reason. Getting myself comfy on the window seat, I unfolded the paper, and studied it, trying to see if I could find my way to Lake Geneva on my own. My finger slid along the criss-crossed lines and traced the highway. Then I got lost. Gulp.
Wow, what would it be like driving if I couldn't find my way before I even left my room?

I scanned the lines and names again. None of the roads sounded right. Nothing made sense.

Was it me, or was it my Z-infected memory? Good thing I'd done this now, I realized. I had a feeling things would change soon, and fast, whether we were ready or not.

To be honest, I'd only been in the resort area a few times before and then as a back seat passenger so I hadn't paid much attention to where we'd gone exactly. We drove up a couple times to check out the snow sculpting stopped by to see Mrs. Carlton.

She lived in a big, spooky old Victorian just on the edge of the resort town. My mom and I had stayed overnight there once with her and her daughter, Sam, whom I remembered for her funny skill at telling good ghost stories after the lights were out. Even if Sam was three years younger than me, I'd still liked her. I wondered what she was up to now, unwilling to consider what she'd think of the “new” me, or how she'd been affected by all this crazy Z stuff.

I tried to remember the exact location of the house, but the images in my mind remained fuzzy. Was it because I'd been there a while ago, or simply a lingering side effect?

Maybe Carm remembered the way. Things might've improved mentally for me (well, sometimes), but I couldn't drive alone. Not with my eye and everything else.

I needed Carm. She couldn't stay mad at me.

Or could she?

I sure hoped not.

The only thing I remembered from the last trip was the long, boring ride down Highway 50. It hadn't taken more than an hour's drive was my guess, though I'd spent most of the trip dozing in the back seat. I remember thinking we'd never get there when we turned on a side street and bumped our way down a road which ended at a long, gravel drive. Not much help, that's for sure.

I ran back to the living room where my aunt and uncle sat on the couch drinking coffee and talking, the dog curled up protectively at
Tia's
feet. The dog picked its head up for one second and, to my relief, lay back down, content to stay where he was. Whew.

“
Tia,
do you know where Grace Carlton lives in Lake Geneva? I called her, but nobody answers.”

“Honey, do you have the right number? Use my phone. It's on the kitchen counter. If she doesn't answer, call the gardener, Mr. Jensen. He'll tell you how to get there.”

“
Gracias, Tia,
I'll call him.”

Stopping first to fill my glass with some cranberry-protein iced tea, I took a sip, sat at the counter, and rechecked the address on Google. Right address and the driving directions weren't too bad. Maybe I could do this, but I'd still better ask, just in case. We didn't need any wrong turns or detours. My mother always said I'd get lost in a paper bag. I sighed and wished she'd call or something. I found Grace's name, hit the dial button, and waited. The phone buzzed several times. Again, no answer. I hung up after the sixth ring.

My hesitation in calling Mr. Jensen next came since I'd only met him briefly the last time I'd been at Grace's house. I remember him being kind of cranky, giving me the also had been a hot day and he'd been busy, so maybe I'd been wrong.

What could it hurt?

The phone gave two short trills before a gruff voice came on the other end. I took a deep breath and responded. “Hi, Mr. Jensen? Sorry to bother you, this is Rebecca Hayes, my mom's a friend of Mrs. Carlton's?”

To my relief, he remembered my mother and his voice took on a friendlier tone. I plunged in. “Yes, I met you when I was at her house with my mom. That's why I'm calling. I was trying to reach Mrs. Carlton, but no one answered. I'm meeting my mom at Grace's house and I needed directions. Okay, wait. Let me get some paper and a pen. Hang on.”

I set the phone down, grabbed a notepad and something to write with, and got back on. “I'm here. Yes, I know Highway 50. Okay, uh-huh, Main Street, past 12, turn on North Edwards, got it. Wait, past what? Okay, pass both shopping centers, go around the curve until I see the wood sign at the side road. Turn. I'm not sure when my mom'll get there. If you see her or Grace, can you tell them me and my cousin are driving up, too? I'm not sure exactly when. We may leave tomorrow or—”

A loud blast in the background made me almost drop the phone. “Mr. Jensen? What was that? Hello? Are you all right? Mr.—”

His next words had me holding the counter in a death grip. “A-a gun? Oh, of course. A zombie at the door.”

A twisted thought came to mind.
Ding-Dong, dead thing calling
.

“How many have you seen?” I winced and squeezed my eyes shut at his answer. “Really, five yesterday? Seven this morning and you expect more later?”

Yikes.
“You think the Guard clearing the main streets pushed the zombies further in? More moving your way…don't you think it'll get better? Oh, not yet.”

Were that many Zs out there? Not a reassuring thought either way.

I hesitated when he asked how many Zs I'd seen.

The lie came easy. “I haven't seen any lately.”

Except when I look in the mirror.

His angry retort about the creatures started my hands shaking. What would he think when I showed up?

Should I tell him? Dare I say anything? “Mr. Jensen, I think you should know, I—” Another loud blast cut off my attempted explanation.

He uttered a hasty goodbye, said he could use some help, and hung up.

I stared at the phone. This was bad.

So bad.

What was I walking into?

Taking one last gulp of tea, I stuck the sheet of directions in my pants pocket, told my Aunt I'd be upstairs, and headed back to my room. I sprawled on my bed and curled up in the comforter, enjoying the softness and comfort one more time.

Maybe the last time.

After tapping the side of my forehead and getting my weird eye to shift back in place, I gazed around the room, trying to memorize it all.

The striped curtains, my bright purple comforter, the bright, kaleidoscopic colors of my little shrines, (well, the unbroken ones) sitting on the shelves, made me feel more than a little sad. My heart heavy, I scrunched under the covers and closed my eyes, willing myself to the forgetfulness of sleep, if I could, though I knew it wouldn't happen.

The sounds of a dog's frantic barks, shouts, and someone calling my name jolted me out of the netherworld I often found myself in now. I wasn't asleep or awake, just
there.

I jumped up and eyed the dim room in a panic. What happened? Was someone breaking in?

I ran out to the hall and stopped at the top of the staircase, surprised to see Carm taking the stairs two at a time. “Bec, hurry! A mob's outside!”

A crash made me jump. The sound of glass breaking had the dog almost going into a fit downstairs. He shrieked and strained against the leash Franco gripped with both hands, the muscles in the man's arms bulging with each pull.

I leaned over the staircase rail in time to watch my aunt run to the door, cell phone in hand.

“
Oh mi Dios!
Becca! I called
la policia.

Hurry, get away from the windows,” my aunt yelled. “Hurry!”

The yells and noise outside grew louder. The dog leaped and shrieked. He fought and snarled about being held back, his frantic barks and growls adding to the chaos. Franco had been right; the dog would rip apart anyone who dared come through the door.

I stumbled back up the stairs, grabbed my sweatshirt, and glanced at Carm. She stood like a statue and clung to the staircase rail, her face pale, her eyes big and bright. “Bec, hurry, hurry! We have to get out of here!”

I jumped down the stairs after my cousin, stumbling and tripping over my clumsy feet. “Carm, wait. Where'd they come from?”

She shook her head and ran to the front of the house. She peered through a corner of the curtain, backing up when something smashed against the window. “I don't know. Mrs. Miller called. She said a bunch of crazies were outside her house and headed this way.”

For a moment I stood and took it all in, letting the noise and chaos swirl around me. It was scary how fast things had spun out of control. I couldn't believe this was happening.

This really was it!

My aunt glanced across the room and met my gaze, her eyes wide. “Becca, what're you doing? No, you can't leave now. I forbid it. It's not safe.”

I shook my head. “
Tia,
it'll never be safe. We have to go. We have to, then the crazies'll leave you alone. Me and Carm'll go to Grace's house. I'll call Mr. Jensen and tell him we'll be there soon.”

Her face sad,
Tia
closed her eyes and nodded slowly, a sign she didn't agree, but had given in. She folded her hands to remind me I'd be in her thoughts and prayers. I memorized the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she was happy, and the bravery she showed, despite her anguish.

I needed her strength. I took her bravery to heart.

She blew a kiss my way. Breathing deep, I took in the room one last time and prepared myself to leave everything behind. It was crazy out there, but we had to leave, if just to keep my aunt safe. We had to find our mothers and go somewhere more secluded; my mom's friend's house sounded perfect.

Another crash.

Glass broke. Rocks bounced off the table and knocked over a plant. Sirens blared in the distance.

My aunt kept up a steady patter on the phone and backed into a corner, a sturdy wooden cane in her hand. “All right, I don't like it, but go, go!” she yelled. “Go!
Te amo,
Becca,
te amo.
Stay safe!”

Taking one last glance, Carm and I grabbed the two duffel bags, the makeup case and the cooler. I caught my aunt's eye. “
Te amo, te extrañare,
” I yelled before Carm and I ran to the kitchen.

The coast clear, we hurried to the garage. I tucked away a mental image of the house and my aunt's car now parked in front of the garage next door, slipped inside, and loaded the bags in the back seat of my mom's car.

The garage door raised, Carm settled in the back seat, I got behind the wheel and backed the car out into the alley.

To say I was a good driver had been an even bigger exaggeration than saying I had the perfect tan gained from a week basking in the Florida sun—not unless I'd sat outside in a continuous 120 degrees with clear skies and no sunscreen, that is.

Carm yelled and pointed at the straggler at the end of the alley. “Bec, watch out!” She hit me in the arm. “Can you see where you're going?”

I yelped and yelled back. “
Oww
, I see him.

If he doesn't move, I may hit him.”

The way I drove, I'd probably end up hitting him anyway.

Or not.

With everything going on I couldn't say I was blessed, but I felt like it when the man staggered a few inches in the opposite direction. Lucky me. Why didn't I play the lottery?

The old drunk waved the paper bag clutched in his hand from last night's or this morning's binge. Once he hit the sidewalk—up one step, back two—I gunned the car and squealed around the corner.

The car swayed like a carnival ride, Carm screamed, and I bit back a curse. For one second, a dizzying feeling hit, like we were gliding on air, and then the car clunked ahead. Whew.

Carm screamed again and grabbed the dash, her knuckles white. “Bec-Bec slow down! You're going to kill us!”

“Kill one of us, you mean, and no, I won't,” I muttered, her lack of confidence in me kind of annoying. “You want to drive?”

She shook her head. “No, I'm worse than you. C'mon, slow down. I thought you said you were a good driver?”

My foot stomped on the brake at the stop sign, making both of us jerk forward and then back when I skidded into a right turn. “Good's a matter of opinion. I'm good enough. Oh, hell. Get the piece of paper out of my back pocket, would you? I forgot the street names.”

Lifting my butt off the seat, I waited for Carm to dig in my jeans pocket and pull out the paper before I sat down again.

“Okay, got it.” She unfolded the paper and giggled. “How can you read this anyway? Looks like a zombie wrote it.”

“Funny, cuz, real funny. Zombies can't write.”

“Yeah, my point.”

She stuck her tongue out at me and yelled again to slow down. Seeing a cop car in the other lane made her suggestion seem like a pretty good idea. I took a breath, tried to calm myself, and slowed down to a steady fifty-three, not too slow, but under the fifty-five speed limit. I didn't need to attract attention to us.

The cop car passed with the driver giving us barely more than a quick glance which made me feel a little better. The makeup did a good job of making my skin appear pretty normal, but once someone got close enough, of course, my condition became more noticeable. Not scary or creepy noticeable, but might as well wear a big red Z on my forehead noticeable. I'd never considered myself movie star beautiful, but I always tried to look my best. Still, makeup could only do so much.

Selena Gomez I wasn't.

A commotion a few feet away made me step on the gas a little harder. Uh-oh.