Girl Z: My Life As A Teenage Zombie (21 page)

Carm gasped.

For once, I had nothing to say.

Tired of the old guy's attitude, I got to my feet and tried to control my temper. “Look, Mr. Jensen, I am normal. I'm on a special diet. I'm not like those-those things out there. You don't have anything to worry about. I won't bother you.”

His expression still wary, he gave another grunt, which I took as his giving in, whether he meant it or not.

I motioned to my cousin. “Carm, c'mon, let's go. We've got a bunch of stuff to do. We need to get the house fixed up and blocked off for the night.”

“No need.” He relented, his voice a touch friendlier. “It's not safe. It's quiet now, but they're crafty, hidin'. Too many of them'll be comin' outta the woods once it gets dark. You can stay at my house. I'm down the road. One level. We can see 'em easier. I, uh, sure could use the help. Hardly got any shuteye in the last few days.”

Things might not get any better between me and him, but I reasoned going to his house would probably still be a wiser move than us staying here by ourselves until Mrs. Carlton or our mothers arrived.

Carm and I glanced at each other. We both knew it was better for everyone and a ton less work for us. I gave in. “I guess we can do that, but I don't want to miss our mothers when they get here.”

“You haven't talked to them yet?” he asked. We both shook our heads no and told him about the garbled message and the other dropped call.

He cleared his throat. “Huh, well, keep callin' until you get an answer. Maybe my wall phone at home'll work better, dang cell phones not worth a dime. We'll leave a note on the door and stick one to the porch post. Rebecca, your mother knows where to find me and she's got my number. We best be goin' now.”

The notes stuck in several of the most noticeable places inside, we waited until he locked the door, then tacked some more notes outside. Mr. Jensen grumbled but gave me the directions, which I wrote on another note in case Carm's mom needed them. The key hidden under the mat, we jumped back in the car.

“Follow me,” Mr. Jensen ordered. “I'll turn right at the end of the drive and then go around the bend. House is down the road.”

I, at least, was happy to get away from this dreary place. Mr. Jensen wasn't much company, but the old guy could be some help, I figured. Three wasn't a crowd when it came to Z fighting.

My foot heavy on the accelerator, I kept one eye (the good one) on the perimeters for unwanted visitors. So far, so good. The road stayed empty except for our two cars.

I glanced over and met Carm's gaze. “Glad we're getting out of here, aren't you?”

She gave my arm a shove before answering. I didn't have to ask why and waited for my other eye to twirl back into place.

“Bec, you think its okay?”

“What?”

She sighed in frustration. “Staying at his house. What if the notes blow off or something? Maybe those things'll pull them down.”

My one eyebrow twitched as I stared at her. “What? Most of those things aren't very smart. Never mind. Hopefully we'll get hold of your mom or mine soon. I'm getting worried.”

“Yeah, me, too.” Carm fell silent. “What if—?”

“No.” I glared at her. “Don't go there.”

Our conversation ended with our arrival at the cozy, one-level ranch. Wood boards covered the lower windows. Flowerpots filled with yellow and orange mums lined the dark green steps. Carm wove her way easily between the pots, the stuffed bags slung across her shoulders.

I knew it wouldn't be so easy for me. A few unsteady steps and I knocked several of the pots over. I made a face and finally made it to the porch.

Mr. Jensen watched and grunted before he pushed open the door. “Well, that answers my question. I put those pots out thinkin' they'd let me know if one o' them is around. Guess it'll work. They're clumsier than you.”

Gee, this makes me feel so much better
.

I stuck my tongue out at his back and followed him inside. Carm poked me in the arm, a sign she understood how I felt, while warning me to be nice. At least we were safe.

“You hungry?” Mr. Jensen asked. “Got some tea and peanut butter sandwiches. You girls can bunk in the back room down the hall. It's got twin beds. Then we'll get to finishin' the last few windows I didn't get boarded up.”

He shuffled into the kitchen, leaving us to find our own way. We headed past the western-decorated living room, paintings of cowboys on horseback and desolate open spaces on one wall, a black-and-white spotted fur rug in front of the black leather couch. I fought back the urge to hunt for some cowboy boots. The other wall held a colorful, eclectic assortment of miniature art, yarn pictures, and oil paintings.

We trailed past several rooms and came upon an office turned guest room. A desk sat against one wall. A bed sat in each corner. We threw the bags down and took in our new home, at least for now.

“No wonder he wanted us here,” Carm remarked. “Invited us home to do his work.”

“Maybe he did,” I agreed, “but it's better than what we faced at the other house. I don't mind boarding up a few windows. Try calling your mom again.”

Perched on the end of her bed, my cousin pulled out her cell phone and texted her mom. Nothing. She punched in the number. “It's ringing.”

I watched my cousin swing her foot, hoping, praying, this time she finally connected.

“Mom! It's me, Carm.”

I gave her a thumbs-up, anxious to hear the news. She kept repeating things, like the reception was still bad, but at least she didn't stop talking. All we needed was enough time to let her mom and mine know where we were, see how they were doing, and find out where we could meet. That's all.

The call ended, she turned to me, her face serious. “They fell behind because—” She let out a sob and continued after getting herself under control—“because my mom got sick.”

Panicked, I jumped to my feet. “Sick? How sick? What happened?”

Carm motioned and tried to calm me down, though her words had the opposite effect. “Bec, take it easy. They're fine now, really. They had the flu. Your mom had a bad fever. She was in the hospital for two days, but she got over it.”

A fever.

Her getting sick could only mean one thing—the virus. I gulped. “She didn't want to talk to me?”

“I could hardly hear. We had to talk fast. Don't worry, she knows where we are. They should be here in the next day or two.”

Our elation was short-lived when Mr. Jensen called us, well, Carm, to have lunch. They downed their sandwiches. I drank my share of the pink lemonade protein powder and choked down a few chicken nuggets (raw, of course) before we grabbed the tools and went to work. A few misses, some cursing, and a fair share of bent or missed nails later, we zipped through boarding up the remaining five windows in pretty good time.

We were on the final window when Carm's phone rang. It jolted both of us, but the real surprise came when she answered.

“Jess! Hey, how you doing?”

The conversation continued for several minutes and ended with Carm, much to Mr. Jensen's annoyance, giving directions on how to get here. She left him mumbling and waved at me to hurry so we could put the tools away.

She filled me in while we headed back to our room. “Wanted to give you a heads up, Jess isn't alone.”

My forehead furrowed in thought. “Gabe? He's coming here, too?”

“Yeah. Their gram's sick and had to go to the hospital. Things were getting kind of weird there. You know, the mobs. They couldn't think of where else to go, so why not come here with us?”

“Good idea, but I don't think Mr. Jensen'll like it. He's gotten used to me but how'll he react when he sees Gabe? How bad is he?”

For one long minute, Carm stared at me, incredulous I didn't get it. “I know you don't think it'll turn out all right. It'll be great. Honest. Jess said Gabe's pretty normal, except for some spots on his skin if you look close. Yeah, he kind of has a funny scent. Not bad, but a little stronger than you have.”

“This is supposed to make me feel better?” I asked with a frown.

Carm glanced at me and laughed. “Good to see you've got your sense of humor back. I forgot, you never met Gabe, did you?”

I shook my head no.

She began to hum a happy tune and bob her head as she flipped through her phone and held out the photo. “You're going to like him. He's cute, and funny. Here's him and Jess together. See? I didn't lie.”

Light brown eyes stared at me from under a sweep of blondish-brown bangs. His T-shirt stretched tight showing a good build, like he didn't sit around and play video games all day. A smirk showed off a dimple in his cheek. His brother Jess was only slightly shorter with darker hair sticking out from under a baseball hat. The hint of mischievousness in Gabe's face told me the two of them could be trouble together—and maybe for me.

“Okay, he's cute.” I paused. “He's also infected. He's got other things on his mind now, you know? Like I do.”

“So? C'mon, Bec, think about it. Your life isn't over. You two are perfect for each other.”

To my surprise, as I put some of my stuff away, I did think about it. Could there really be somebody who'd like me now, even the way I was?

We went down the hall to the living room where Mr. Jensen sat, gun at his side, watching an old black-and-white
I Love Lucy
re-run. I wondered how we'd fill the time beyond hours of TV when we heard something outside. Mr. Jensen put his finger to his lip and went to peek out the small window on the door.

“Carm,” I whispered, “we left our guns!”

“Never mind, girls, I've got this one,” Mr. Jensen said, his voice low.

In seconds, faster than I'd expected the old guy to move, he threw the lock, opened the door, and pushed the screen door open. A decrepit Z, gray hair sticking out in tufts around a wrinkled, scarred face, stumbled up the last step. CRACK! Mr. Jensen fired, sending the thing rolling backward down the steps.

The old man hurried down the stairs and surveyed the yard before he called us out. “Girls, help me drag this one over there by the shed. Rebecca, keep an eye out and set those pots up again, would you?”

I watched and blurted out a question, unable to stem my curiosity. “What if you get too many? What'll you do with them?”

To my horror, the old man poked his chin in the direction of an ash pile I hadn't seen before at the corner of the yard.

“Can't do nothin' else but burn 'em,” he explained. “Stinks like hell, but it'll be worse if I leave the carcasses lyin' around. It helps keep 'em at a distance, too. The things hate fire.”

Carm and I grimaced at each other, but we also understood—nothing stopped the decay once the body was no longer animated. Yuck.

It sure wasn't something I wanted to think about given my own circumstances. I hadn't told anyone, but the weird spot growing on my leg—now the size of a quarter—worried me. Antiseptics didn't seem to have much of an effect. I hoped and prayed it didn't spread any faster or get any worse until I could get to a doctor.

By now, I figured there had to be some new kind of vaccine, a salve, or something—anything—to stop the rot. There had to be.

We hurried inside, got our guns, and set them in the living room within reach. Carm went to rummage in the cabinets for some cookies while I slouched in a chair with my iced tea.

I flipped through a magazine, not really interested, but neither did I want to see—or smell—any more of our host's ghoulish activity as he piled branches and lit several bonfires along the fence line. I got a whiff of the burning branches before I went and slammed the door. I hoped the door and windows sealed tight.

My sense of smell had improved enough that when Mr. Jensen came in I picked up the weird acrid scent of charcoal, burnt candy, and a sickening stench I didn't know how to describe which clung to his clothes. The smell had me coughing and Carm gagging. He apologized and told us to keep an eye out while he changed.

A quick peek around the window coverings confirmed my suspicions that the smoke also served as a kind of beacon. I could see several of the things shambling around outside and heading our way. A few flailed about, unsure how to get past the wall of smoke, while a couple others dragged their way through with a screech as the flames ate at their tattered clothes.

I watched for a few minutes, by now the scene outside almost comical, when several of the monsters turned and shuffled in the other direction. Puzzled, I couldn't imagine what they were doing when I saw the dim flicker of lights through the haze of smoke and heard a car's frantic
beep-beep-beep
.

“Guys, hey, someone's here,” I yelled. “Carm, it's not your mom's car, it's a gray SUV. C'mon, bring the guns. The things are after them. Hurry, they need help. Hurry!”

Each of us grabbed our weapons and ran outside. Carm and Mr. Jensen thumped down the steps with me following more cautiously. The things paid no attention to us, or to the horn's constant bleat. They beat on the car's hood and grabbed the side door handles trying to find a way in as the car edged forward. As it came nearer, I could see Jesse's frantic expression, though his brother, Gabe, seemed to laugh it all off.

He, of all people, shouldn't find it funny
, I fumed.

I broke out of my daydreaming at Mr. Jensen's yells. “Girls, go around, get to the side. Get 'em! I can't shoot, they're too close to the car.”

His warning prompted Carm into action. She squeezed the trigger, spraying several on the right side in one shot. The things grasped their heads and screamed, their skin peeling and hanging. Yuck.

Ugh. I choked and gagged at the sickening smell of decay.

The other three, Mama, Papa and Sister Zombie, clung to the car, their shrieks and screeches getting louder as they fought to gain entrance. Maybe it was sick, but I couldn't resist. I took aim with the paintball gun and squeezed the trigger.
Pop-pop-pop
. They landed in an arc, hitting each in turn. The paintball sizzled, the neon poison spreading across the one creature's back. The second ball splat on the arm of Mama Z, who pulled her hair and screeched before she fell. The third Z turned its rotten face my way and hissed like a snake, its rot-pocked tongue wiggled at me, before it, too, fell into the pile.