Zomburbia (10 page)

“Is that them?” Crystal asked, and I looked where she pointed. Shadows moved along back in the tree line to our left. They became more distinct; I saw there were three shapes.

“That's not them,” I said. “Let's get back to the house.”

“But maybe someone else—” she stopped cold when the two zombies shuffled out of the woods. A girl and a guy. Even though they were all naked, there was nothing even close to sexy about them. Major parts of their bodies were gone. The guy was missing his face.

I heard Crystal talking to herself under her breath behind me. I couldn't make out what she was saying. Probably trying to calm herself down. I could have used some of that, too. I felt like my heart was beating up in my throat.

The UDs started to walk toward us with purpose. As much purpose as dead folks can have, anyway.

I grabbed Crystal's hand and she started. She seemed to calm a little bit when I smiled at her. “Let's just walk to the house,” I told her. “They can't walk as fast as us.” I started to lead her that way.

Everything seemed like it was going really well. Until I noticed that a fourth zombie had come out of the woods on the opposite side of the clearing and now stood between us and the house. We both froze. Even though I had the gun in my hand, I felt like I couldn't walk on, couldn't get closer to this new zombie. Where the hell had she come from anyway? Was she the David Blaine of zombies, just appearing out of thin air? She looked fresher than the other three; still had on her bikini and no bite marks that I could see. So, maybe she was the David-Blaine-zombie's assistant.

I got my courage up—still being a little drunk helped, and was about to prod Crystal into action when she lost her shit.

She screamed and tore her hand out of my grip and ran to the house. Bikini zombie rushed to meet—way faster than I'd ever seen a zombie move. The monster got its hands on her arms and opened its mouth as it pulled her close. Crystal fought back, thank God.

She bought me time enough to run after her and get so close that I put the muzzle of the pistol right up against the dead bitch's forehead. The shot was incredibly loud, and I felt the shock of it all the way up my arm since I hadn't taken time to prepare myself for it. The zombie and Crystal both fell to the ground, and I kicked at the finally dead thing until it let go and Crystal could crawl some distance away. Crystal sat there panting, and I leaned over her, asking if she was okay. She screamed again, this time right in my ear. It was louder than the loudest concert I'd ever been to.

The shufflers were nearly on us. Rather than try to get Crystal up and into the house, I assumed a kneeling stance, pistol held out in front of me with both hands. I sighted down the barrel, squeezed the trigger, let out my breath, and squeezed it some more. I was ready for the recoil this time. Too bad I missed. I squeezed the trigger again and this time scored a hit—in the boy's chest. Damndamn-damn. I didn't have time for this. I fired the pistol again, and the boy dropped as a small dot appeared in his forehead.

I was lining up my next shot when a loud boom sounded behind me. The girl on the left had her middle section evaporated by the shotgun blast. I dove into the sand and covered my head, afraid to be hit by any stray buckshot.

Another shot boomed out, and then Crystal started screaming again.
What now?
I thought. I didn't want to open my eyes again. Then I figured I'd better check out what was going on. Good thing I did. The top half of the blown-apart zombie crawled toward me; was nearly on top of me. She was so close that I was able to reach out and stick the pistol in her mouth. If I were in an action movie, I'd have said something clever. The truth was I was too scared and tired. I pulled the trigger, and the top of her head disappeared. She lay on the ground right next to me, quivering. I rolled over and, as discreetly as I could in front of my new friends, barfed until I nearly passed out.

Brandon helped me up and walked me toward the cabin. Ken tried to help Crystal. She didn't want him to touch her. I understood. I glanced at the pile of bodies and wondered what their brains would be worth to my dealer. I started to laugh, and the effect on my throat nearly made me hurl again. No more of that. Inside, Brandon got me a glass of water and asked what had happened.

“I was going to ask you that,” I said. My throat felt raw from spewing and my voice was all crackly.

“While you guys were in here, Ken saw someone in the trees,” Brandon said. “We grabbed the guns and went to see what was up.”

“We thought we'd be back by the time you got back,” Ken said. He sat on a chair across from Crystal. It looked like he wanted to reach out and comfort her since she was obviously still freaking out. Unfortunately for him, she was also giving a clear
“no touch”
vibe.

“Yeah,” Brandon said, “but when we got in there, we didn't see anyone, so we went in deeper and . . . ,” he blushed, “and we got sort of lost.”

“Lost?” Crystal said. Hysteria didn't just creep into her voice, it moved right in and set up house.

“It's easy to do,” Brandon said, defensive, “even just a few yards into the woods and you can lose sight of where you walked into them.”

“And we did find a zombie,” Ken put in.

“Yeah, you probably heard us shoot it,” Brandon said.

“You found a zombie?” Crystal asked, her voice shrill. “Well we found some zombies, too, you asshats!” She was up out of her chair, the tendons on the sides of her neck bulging out as she screamed at the boys. “If it hadn't been for Dead-Eye Lolita over there, we'd be dead!”

“It's okay, Crystal,” I said, and she seemed to calm down when I spoke to her. She sat down at least. “We got through it.”

Brandon started to apologize. “I am really—”

“Don't,” Crystal said, and she drew back into herself on the chair.

Brandon looked to me for support, and I shrugged. I had no interest in leading our group therapy session. But there
was
something that needed to be done.

“Hey, Crystal,” I said as soothingly as possible given the fact that I sounded a lot like Cookie Monster at the moment.

“What?” she asked, not bothering to make eye contact.

“We need to check you out.”

“What does that mean?” she asked. Her voice was weak; she knew what I meant. I had to say it for Brandon and Ken, though.

“That thing got a hold of you,” I said. The boys shifted their focus from me to her. “We need to look you over to make sure it didn't scratch you or anything. If it did, we'll have to take you to the hospital. Shit, we'll probably all have to be quarantined.”

Ken started to say that he could check her out. Crystal shook her head. “I want Courtney to do it.”

“Okay,” I said, and stood up. My legs felt pretty rubbery, but I thought I could make it. Crystal followed me into the bathroom, and she closed and locked the door behind her.

I sat on the toilet, and then she and I stared at each other for a second. It was starting to feel pretty awkward, when she suddenly stripped off her shirt. That didn't really help with the awkward feeling. I just needed to do what I'd come in there to do. Crystal wore a black bikini top, though she probably could have gotten away without wearing anything up there. I was impressed with her stomach muscles. She had a definite six-pack going on. I concentrated on her arms, since that's where the thing had grabbed her. I didn't see any claw marks. I did see row after row of straight cuts running the length of her upper arms. Some were old and nearly faded, some were obviously fresh.

I looked away from her arms and into her face. She didn't blink, defiant. “Those aren't from the zombie,” she said.

“No,” I said, “I guessed that. Let me look at the other side.” She held up her arms. No marks of any kind on the backs of them. Maybe they were too hard to reach with a razor. I gave her torso and neck a quick once-over. The zombie hadn't given her as much as a scratch.

I stood up and she put her shirt back on, covering her arms.

“You know, Crystal,” I said, fumbling for what to say, “if you ever want to talk . . .”

“I appreciate that, Courtney. I won't want to. Thanks, though.” She walked out of the bathroom and I followed. We found the boys lounging on the couch, not saying much.

Crystal asked if we could go, and no one argued. We gathered up our things from the shore, packed them into the truck, and then climbed in ourselves and drove away. The ride back was mostly silent. Brandon played his mix CD quietly and everyone seemed locked in their own heads.

When we passed through Aumsville, Brandon asked if we could stop at a Thai place he likes, and none of us could muster the strength to say no. The Drunken Noodles were great, but I didn't have much of an appetite. I was sure I'd eat the leftovers the next day for lunch. We all got back in the truck after we were done eating—or after Brandon was done I guess I should say—and drove on home without stopping again.

We dropped Crystal off first, and she got out of the car and left without saying good-bye. As we pulled away from her house, Ken sighed a huge theatrical sigh. “Not a great first date,” he said. I grimaced. It was a first date for him, too, and it was shitty to boot. We had so much in common.

Ken lived in the same gated suburb as Crystal, so he got dropped off next. He and Brandon did a complicated handshake thing, which I'm sure they thought was very street, and then he left without saying good-bye to me. Maybe no one was going to acknowledge leaving my presence ever again.

By the time we reached my hovel, it was nearly eight o'clock. The sky was darkening and a slim crescent moon already hung in the sky. Brandon parked right in front of the gate and shut the truck down. He turned to look at me and was Very Serious.

“I'm really sorry about this afternoon, Courtney,” he said. “I feel like an ass for leaving the two of you alone like that.”

“Well, don't,” I said. “Everything turned out fine.”

“Yeah. It's just the thought of something happening to you . . .”

“Honestly, Brandon,” I said, “don't worry about it.”

“I just don't want you to hate me,” he said, and he looked so sincere and forlorn that it short-circuited my sarcasm response.

“I don't hate you,” I said, “honest. We should hang out again. No zombie-infested reservoir next time, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, “I promise.”

“Great,” I said, “and now I need to go to bed and sleep for one million years.”

“Sure, have a good night.”

“You, too, Brandon,” I said, and I climbed out of the truck and through the gate. I heard him start up the truck and pull away as I walked into my house.

I found Dad and Bev snuggling on the couch watching TV when I entered. Just great, as if I hadn't seen enough horrors for one day. Dad had his arm around her shoulders and she had her legs thrown over his. They both turned and smiled at me.

“Hey, you're home earlier than I expected,” Dad said. “How was hanging out?”

“Not great,” I said, “but we're going to give it another shot sometime.”

“Atta girl,” Bev chimed in. “You've got to keep on trying.”

“Anything you want to talk about?” Dad asked.

“No,” I said, “right now I just want to clean up and go to bed.”

I headed down the hall toward safety, and my dad called out after me.

“Say, did William get a hold of you?”

I stopped dead, an icy ball in the pit of my stomach. “Willie called?” I asked.

“Sure,” Dad said, “a few times. You should call him in the morning.”

Willie had been calling me all day while I frolicked with Brandon. Right then I wished I had been eaten by those stupid shufflers because at least then I wouldn't have to call Willie and apologize for standing him up for dinner.

W
illie wasn't online anywhere. Facebook, Gmail, Tumblr, none of the weird message boards he frequents. He didn't have a cell phone—I mean, c'mon, who doesn't have a cell phone?—and it was too late to call his house. If I tried it, all I'd get would be his mom screeching into the phone demanding to know if I knew what time it was—and his dad in the background yelling at her to stop yelling for God's sake. It was already ten o'clock because, okay, I'd put off trying to contact him until it was too late to call. I had to admit that I sucked. The only way I could get ahold of him would be on the Internet, and he was definitely off line. Dammit, he was
never
off line. I guessed he was doing to me right now what I'd done to Sherri earlier. Made himself unavailable so I couldn't reach out and apologize to him. He wanted to stew.

I looked at my bag for a while. Tried to gird myself for listening to his messages. Damn. Damn. Damn. Why did I have to turn off my stupid phone? If I'd left it on, I'd have remembered to go to his place and none of that zombie crap would have happened.

I turned it back on and it buzzed a bunch of times as new messages loaded. I noticed that they were all from Willie; Sherri still hadn't tried to contact me. I gritted my teeth and hit the button to play my voice mails.

It was worse than I thought it would be. In the first message Willie sounded all cheery, reminding me about dinner and making some dumb joke about not bringing anything with me but my appetite, ha ha ha! He called back during the afternoon, wondering why I hadn't called back. He was still trying to sound upbeat and not managing it very well. In the third message, left right after Willie had come over to the house and knocked on the door, he sounded depressed as all get out. He hoped everything was okay, wondered where I was, and asked me to call when I got in. I could still come over and eat if I wanted.

The last message was left just about a half-hour before I came home. I could hear his mom yelling something at him in the background. His voice barely registered. “Hey,” he said, “so I guess you're not gonna come over tonight. I wish you'd called me . . .” He said something I couldn't catch. “Anyway, yeah, I'll talk to you later, or something . . .” And he hung up.

Looking at the phone, I saw that he'd called about ten times besides the four times he left a message. I threw the phone away and slumped into the bed. I couldn't believe I'd done that to Willie. Just yesterday I was thinking how I wanted to be better to him. Why did I suck so much? In the morning I would have to call and beg him to forgive me. Maybe make him some baked goods? Buy him some porn? I didn't know. I needed to think of something.

I turned off the light. I hadn't washed my face or brushed my teeth and I didn't care. I just wanted to go to sleep and make this day be over. I'd screwed it up so bad that I had to do a better job of things tomorrow, right?

 

I dreamed I was talking to one of the zombies from that afternoon. The bikini-girl, the one I shot in the head. She wasn't dead in the dream. She was alive, tanned and bright-eyed and plump, which really worked for her in that suit. She looked really good, actually, except for the pair of holes in her head. She had a small, star-shaped hole in her right temple where I shot her—a small line of blood trickled from it. A crater about the size of a fist was on the other side of her head. Despite that, she smiled at me.

We stood on the shore of the reservoir. I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to keep warm. Bikini-girl didn't seem to notice. She told me a long story about what happened to her after she was turned into a zombie. After a while I realized I couldn't understand what she said to me. I strained to hear. Nothing was overpowering her voice; it was just that I couldn't make out the words.

I kept leaning closer and closer to her, trying to catch what she said. I knew it was really important. I finally got so close that I could feel her breath on my neck. I wrinkled my nose at the smell—rotten meat, garbage, turned peaches.

She finally said something I could understand: “Courtney.”

I turned to glance at her and she was a zombie again—eyes glassy with cataracts, lips pulled back in a rictus smile. She opened her mouth impossibly wide and I just stood there, waiting, as she slowly pulled me closer.

I woke up, my heart racing, my legs tangled in my sheet and blankets.
What the hell was that all about?
More than likely it was the fault of that talk show with the zombie whisperer. I could tell him what the result would have been yesterday if I'd tried to open lines of communication with those shufflers on the reservoir.

I sat up and rubbed my eyes and scratched my head. Tried to get the cobwebs out. I picked up my phone and looked at the time. 9:30. Why was I up so early? I put the phone back on my bedside table.

The phone. Oh, hell. There's nothing worse than that moment after you wake up, when your brain spins up to speed and you remember what happened the day before and you face the crushing realization that you're a shit.

I started thinking of all the things I could do right now instead of call Willie's house. I could clean my room, do my accounting before I went to meet my dealer, read ahead in my homework, clean my pistol, slit my F'ing wrists. Ugh. I just needed to cowboy up and call him.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I picked up my phone, flipped it open, and hit the speed-dial for Willie's place. He's number 2 right after Sherri.

Three rings and I started to have hope that no one would pick up. Maybe they'd gone out to breakfast or something, and I could just leave a message and I'd be off the hook!

“Hello,” said Willie's mom on the other end. Suck.

“Hello, Mrs. Luunder,” I said.

“Oh,” she said brightly, setting my nerves on end, “it's the amazing disappearing girl! No, wait, I'm wrong—you would have to show up first to be able to disappear.”

“I'm sorry about last night, Mrs. Luunder,” I said lamely.

“Well, I'm sure you have a good reason for making my son mope around the house like the world's biggest infant.” Jesus, this was worse than taking shit from one of my friends. I decided not to play along.

“Is Willie home, ma'am?” I asked.

“I'm sure he is, Courtney” she said, “since he's been waiting since about four in the afternoon yesterday for you to call. Just a moment.”

There was a pause and then I heard her bellow out, “William, it's your so-called friend on the line. She deigned to call you.” I heard her husband yell something but couldn't make out what.

I listened to the hiss of the empty phone line and then heard a muffled clumping sound as Willie walked to the phone. There was a conversation as Willie's mom handed it over. I couldn't hear what they were saying. I did hear her rising voice, shrill even though he must have had his hand over the mouthpiece.

I knew he was on the line because I heard a huge Charlie-Brown sigh. “Hey, Courtney,” he said.

“Hi, Willie,” I said. “I'm really sorry about last night. I'm a total douche.”

“No,” he said, “that's okay . . .” At this I heard his mom in the background calling him the human welcome mat.

“Can I make it up to you?” I asked, trying to speak over her. “Let's get together for lunch—my treat!” I could afford to dip into my second income to make Willie feel better. “And I'll tell you about what happened to me yesterday.” I'd just need to figure out a way to leave out any mention of Brandon.

“I don't know if I can,” Willie said. “I have a bunch of chores to do today.”

“And you should get to them,” his mom said. She sounded like she was standing right over his shoulder. Which she probably was. “You left all that fish out last night—you know, the fish we made for
dinner
? Now it stinks to high heaven.”

“But it's a great story,” I said. “It involves nearly being eaten by a zombie and everything!”

“Oh, who were you out with?” he asked, and my heart sank. It was bad enough that I ditched him; hearing that I was out with Brandon would kill him.

“Just some people,” I said. “Ken Leung, Crystal Beals.”

“Is that all?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “Brandon Ikaros, too.”

There was a long silence on Willie's end of the phone. Long enough to make me wonder if he had hung up or just left the phone to dangle on its cord on the kitchen wall. “Willie?” I asked.

“Brandon Ikaros?” he asked, and there was something in his voice that scared me.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to sound casual about it, dismissive. “It was totally not a big deal. He called me spur of the moment . . .”

“Do you like him?” Willie asked. I could hear his mom in the background again, harping on him about the fish and how it wasn't going to throw itself away.

“I guess I like him,” I said, and then added quickly, “but, hey, I like you, too, buddy!”

“But you don't like me the same way you like him, right?” he asked.

I really thought about what to say to him next. I could lie, but that wouldn't be fair. I could tell him I didn't have any feelings for Brandon, which I didn't think was true. Or I could tell him that I liked him in the same way as I liked Brandon—I was confused is all. I knew that it was going to hurt him to tell him the truth. Telling him anything else would hurt even worse.

“I'm not exactly sure how I feel about Brandon yet, Willie,” I said. “I know that I like you as a friend. One of my best friends.”

“That's what I thought,” he said, and then there was a long pause. I could hear his parents still yelling in the background. God, why wouldn't they just shut the hell up? Then his mom must have walked closer to the phone because I heard her say, plain as day, “Are you crying?” Oh, man, this was going from bad to worse. Willie screamed at her to get out of there, and she demanded to know what I had said to him and to hand her the phone—which Willie did not, thank God.

By this time,
I
was crying; my cheeks were wet with tears because I was breaking the heart of this big, dumb guy who was stupid enough to have a crush on me.

“Willie.” I tried calling to him. I knew that he couldn't hear me over him and his mom yelling.

He finally put the phone to his ear long enough to say in a voice choked with tears, “I have to go, Courtney. I don't blame you, you know. It's not your fault.” And still his mom yelled on and on. Then there was silence from his end of the line.

I chucked the phone away from me and buried my head in my pillow and sobbed. Why did Willie have to have such a horrible mom? Why did he have to like me? And why couldn't I like him back in return? None of it seemed fair, and none of it made sense.

The one person in the world I never wished any harm was Willie, and here I'd just taken a huge dump all over his heart.

Someone sat beside me on the bed and started to stroke my hair and back. I hadn't heard anyone come in. I looked up long enough to see my dad sitting there, looking down at me wearing his worried face. He made a soft shushing noise as he petted me. My first reaction was to pull away from him, to give in to the misery I felt and deny myself the chance to feel better, and my dad's efforts to help. Instead, I made myself scoot closer to him and wrapped my body around him like a cat. My sobs slackened, but I was still crying. He didn't say anything, didn't ask what was wrong—he just sat there for a long time and tried his best to comfort me. Maybe he sensed that trying to get me to talk about it would drive me away. Maybe he was smarter and better at his job than I ever gave him credit for.

After a while, even the tears ebbed away and I lay there against my dad, completely limp from the exertion.

He brushed the hair from my face. I heard someone else creep in, Bev, and then creep out again. Dad pressed a cool cloth to my face and started to wipe it along my cheeks and over my eyes. Bev must have brought him that cloth without being asked. God, why was I such a bitch? Had I misjudged every single person in my life?

“Do you want to talk about it?” Dad asked.

“No,” I said, and I hated the whine in my voice.

“Maybe later?”

I nodded. Right then all I wanted was to stay curled around him and have him pet me. I felt like I was eight years old again and he was trying to explain to me why my mom wasn't home anymore. He let me stay there. It was maybe twenty or thirty minutes later before I sat up and sat away from him, my back against the wall. I wiped my eyes and my nose on my shirt. Dad winced at that, but he didn't say anything.

“Still don't want to tell me about it?” he asked.

I wanted to tell him
everything
. I wanted to tell him about what happened yesterday at the reservoir. I wanted to tell him about how I maybe liked Brandon even though I had my doubts about him. I wanted to tell him about how I hurt Willie and I made Sherri mad at me, all because of this stupid boy. I wanted to tell him about selling drugs because I wanted out of Salem so bad I could scream. I wanted to tell him that I never blamed him for my mom leaving even though I think he blamed himself; and I was glad that he'd found Bev even if he didn't end up staying with her forever.

“Not right now,” I said. I let my head fall back and thump against the wall behind me.

“Okay,” he said. “I hate to leave you alone. It's just that I need to take Bev home and then I have to go to my office to prepare some things for tomorrow.”

“I'll be okay,” I told him. “I'm going to clean up and then call Sherri. I need to apologize for some stuff.”

He raised his eyebrows at that, but didn't press it. He stood up and arched his back. I heard his spine popping. Then he leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. I couldn't remember the last time he'd done that, or the last time I'd let him.