Zomburbia (27 page)

After everyone arrived, I stuck close to Brandon's side. He greeted everyone and made sure they knew where the booze and snacks were located—though, to be honest, everyone behaved as if they'd been to the cabin a million times and they knew where everything was. Brandon introduced me to everyone. Which was funny because I'd known most of these people since kindergarten. Everyone smiled and greeted me like it was the first time they'd ever laid eyes on me. I played along and didn't bring up things like, for instance, the time Kimmy Parnell barfed all over herself at my sixth birthday party and had to go home in hysterics. I just smiled and waved and said things like, “How
nice
to meet you!”

That was strange enough. The real weirdness started after we'd all been standing around talking. Brandon told a story about some amazing football exploit of his and everyone laughed and said how diesel it had been to be there. I said I was sorry I missed it and everyone jumped in and told me how great it had actually been—even though I was standing there and had just
heard for myself
that it was utterly amazing. Jessica Lyman actually put her hand on my shoulder and said, “Girl, you should have been there.”

Then Brandon had to go locate some more chips or something. He gave me a little squeeze and told me he'd be right back. I watched him walk away and when I turned back I noticed that everyone we'd been talking to had splintered off into little groups and none of those groups included me. I thought that maybe I was being paranoid—something I'm prone to at parties—so I walked up to one of the groups and tried to muscle in on their confab. I was given the big ol' cold shoulder. I tried it twice more and got the same reaction.

When Brandon returned, I was part of the group again. Even if I didn't already have a finely honed awareness of personal rejection, I would know I was being snubbed. The worst part was that I couldn't even complain to anyone about it. If Sherri was with me, we could go stand in the corner, glower at the mean kids, and talk about what total bitches and assholes they all were. I couldn't even talk to Brandon about it.

Finally I just got to the point where I would wander off whenever Brandon left and I'd look at the paintings on the walls, the books on the shelves, or whatever. I'd only go back to whatever group Brandon was talking to when he returned.

I sort of wished the phantom Sherri voice would come back so I'd have someone to talk to.

During one loneliness interlude I stood there studying the titles of the books on a shelf that was sort of hidden, and I was practicing my telekinesis by willing everyone in the cabin except for me and Brandon to burst into flame. I had my back to the room so I couldn't see anyone and there was music blaring. I still heard the murmur of conversation and every once in a while the sound of laughter rose above the noise. Each shrill exclamation of joy felt like a rusty nail being driven into my soul.

A hand touched my shoulder and I spun around to find Brandon there, his brow creased with worry.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Super. How could I not be?”

He frowned at me and then he got this weird look on his face—like he had a secret.

“Hey, you should come with me.”

“Where?”

He didn't answer; he just grabbed my hand and walked through the crowd. I let him lead me away and I couldn't help noticing that several girls made a point of making eye contact and glaring.

What is this?
I wondered as he led me down the hall and into one of the back rooms. His room by the looks of it. Posters for the Portland Trail Blazers and swimsuit models decorated the walls. He led me in, closed the door, and then sat me on the bed. Then it hit me,
My God, he wants to have
sex! Suddenly it felt like I didn't know how to sit—cross my legs, or not? I didn't know what to do with my arms and I was breathing too fast. I didn't even think I wanted to have sex.

“Hold on,” he said to me, and then started to scrounge through a drawer in his dresser. Looking for condoms, I supposed. After a minute he stood up, turned, and held his hands out to me. He held a Ziploc sandwich baggie. Were his condoms in there? I took the bag and looked at it. Inside were three smaller bags. Inside each bag was a finely granulated black powder. Vitamin Z.

“What the hell, Brandon?”

“I thought we could have some later. You know, after most of the crowd thins out.”

“Are you kidding me?”

He looked confused. “You don't want to?”

Suddenly I knew exactly what to do with my body. I stood up and threw the baggie to the floor.

“Well, the first time
was
great since I ate a freaking cat and my best friend died.” I retreated from him when he took a step toward me. “I can't believe you went out and bought this and thought I'd want to smoke it with you.”

“It's not a big deal, Courtney.”

“Not a big . . .” And I stopped. A really terrible idea floated into my head. “Have you smoked it again since last Saturday?”

“Just once with Ken.”

I backed away from him toward the door. He stooped to pick up the bag. I was so pissed. Pissed at him, at me, at a world messed up enough to think up making a drug out of a goddamned
zombie brain
. Especially me for selling that shit, even though I didn't bring that up to him.

“Jesus.” It was all I could think to say.

He sat on the bed pouting, staring down at the baggie he held in his hand.

He looked up. “If it's so freaking evil, why are you still selling it? Or have you stopped since the last time I saw you?”

“Congrats on scoring that debate point.” I turned and walked out the door. I stormed down the hall. I needed to find Crystal. I'd demand that she take me home. I almost stopped and went back to scream at him that I had not, in fact, sold any more black powder.

When I got to the living room, I scanned the faces there. I couldn't see Crystal. It was the same thing in the kitchen. Once I was in there, I decided that I couldn't stay in the house for another second without screaming and going crazy.

I burst out the back door into the dark and relative quiet outside. A slight breeze came in off the reservoir and added a chill to the air. I knew I'd get cold soon. For now, it felt great. I walked over to a small shed that stood about forty feet or so away from the house, and I slipped around to the back side. I didn't want to be found too easily.
If
someone came looking for me, that is.

I leaned against the wall of the shed and felt the rough boards through the thin material of my dress. I took a few deep breaths, trying to clear my head. What was Brandon thinking? After everything that had happened, how could he go and bring some Z to his damned party? And what was so terrible about his life that he needed to get high and forget it? It made absolutely no sense.

Deep down a voice whispered that it was my fault.
I
had dragged him along to see Buddha.
I
had been the reason he hadn't refused the pipe when it was offered to him. He hadn't wanted to lose face in front of
me
. That was right, wasn't it?

I heard a rustling in the woods in front of me and I held my breath and tried to listen. Soon my lungs ached and I couldn't hear anything because of the sound of blood pounding through my ears. I let out the breath and stood, ready to run. My hand curled around the butt of the revolver in my purse.

Two figures came out of the bushes right in front of me, and I nearly blew the heads off Phil and his buddy, Cody. When they saw me, Cody gave me a goofy smile and a wave. Phil just looked at me, as if he was assimilating my existence into his worldview.

“Hey, it's that chick we saved,” Cody said.

“Hi, Courtney,” Phil said.

“Hi, Phil. And no one saved my ass,” I said to Cody.

“If you say so.” Cody peered around the shed to look at the house. “They look like they're having a good time. This is pure horror movie fodder, man.”

I ignored him for the moment and took in their outfits. They were dressed a lot like they were the last time I saw them—camouflage pants and shirts, homemade weapons, face paint.

“What the hell are you guys doing out here? Did you ride your bikes out here?”

“Hell, no,” said Cody. He was still scoping out the house.

“Cody borrowed his mom's car. It's parked down by the road.”

“Okay, that answers one of my questions.”

Phil looked me in the face and blinked a couple of times. I got the sense he was trying to decide whether or not to let me in on their little plan. Finally, he looked over at Cody and then back at me, and his shoulders seemed to relax a little.

“We're here in case there's trouble.”

“Trouble.”

“Classic horror movie setup,” Cody repeated. He grinned and he snapped his fingers compulsively. He was afraid or keyed up on adrenaline—hopefully just adrenaline. “A bunch of teenagers in a secluded area—where there's
already
been a zombie attack—partying. The last thing anyone expects is some kind of trouble. Bam!” He punched the wall of the shed and I felt it shake against my back. “The time is right for a brain buffet.”

“That's great,
Edgar Frog,
except that this isn't a movie.”

Cody looked confused. “What the hell did you call me?”

“Lost Boys,”
Phil said. “I get the reference. It's funny.” It occurred to me just then how rare it was for Phil to display any emotions. It was kind of weird. “Though they were dealing with vampires.”

“Sure, but you get the sentiment.”

“Right. You think we're nuts. I get it.”

Cody went back to checking out the house. Phil joined him, peering over his shoulder. The breeze finally got to me. I wanted to be done with this little farce and inside.

“This is stupid, guys,” I said. “It's not a movie, and there aren't going to be any zombies.”

“Then what are those?” Phil asked, and he pointed with his nail-studded baseball bat.

“
W
hat?” I walked around behind Phil and looked over at the house. At least a dozen zombies emerged from the tree line and approached the front. I couldn't see any walking up to the side of the house that faced the beach. I wouldn't be surprised if there were some there, too. I bet they were everywhere.
Oh, no.
I whipped around and looked into the forest behind us.

“Me and Cody were just back there,” Phil said. “No undead. I think it's too overgrown for them.”

“Oh, man, what are we going to do?”

“Do you have your phone?” Phil asked. I nodded, too horrified by the thought of so many zombies to actually speak. “Call someone in the house, let 'em know what's going on. We'll try to help out here.”

“I wasn't expecting so many, dude,” Cody said. There was the unmistakable edge of panic in his voice.

“Just more to kill,” Phil answered.

I rummaged through my purse and got my phone out. I found Brandon in my contacts—I still hadn't added him to speed dial—and pressed the CALL button. It rang and rang. I thought it was going to go to voice mail and I would have to leave the most messed-up message in history when I heard Brandon pick up on his end. I had to hold the phone away from my ear because the music was so loud.

“Court?” He yelled into the phone. “Where are you, I've been looking for you.”

“Brandon, there are zombies headed toward the house!” I sort of stage-whispered because I didn't want to attract the attention of any of the UDs.

“What? I can't hear you over the music. Zombies?”

I yelled into the phone, “There's a bunch of zombies attacking you, goddammit!”

From the house there came the sound of breaking glass and then a scream. The music cut out and there was a lot of shouting.

I hung up the phone. “I think they know now,” I told the boys.

“What next?” Cody asked. Phil hefted his bat in response.

“Bullshit,” I said.

They both looked at me.

“Against that many zombies, with
those.
You guys will last about ten seconds.”

“What do you suggest?”

“The cars parked on the other side of the shed.”

They exchanged a look. “Do you want us to drive out of here? 'Cause we're not doing that,” Phil said.

“No, asshat. Brandon has two shotguns in his truck. I think some of the others did, too.”

“Niiice,” Cody said.

“I say we round them up and then take them inside to help defend the cabin,” I said.

“You want to fight your way
into
a house that's besieged by the walking dead?” Cody asked. He looked like I just suggested kicking him in the junk for funsies.

“There are no zombies at the back of the house,” I said. “It won't be much of a fight.”

Phil thought about it for just a second. “Okay,” was all he said.

I kicked off my shoes and walked gingerly over the crushed gravel. We went around to the other side of the shed and scoped out the vehicles parked there. A couple dozen cars and trucks lined up along the front of the shed, including Brandon's bit of overcompensation. We darted out together and each went to a different vehicle. I opened the door to an old Toyota truck. It had a gun rack with a pump shotgun in the back window. I snatched it up and looked around for shells. I couldn't find any. Phil and Cody met up with me and we checked in to see how we'd done. We were like the world's most dangerous group of trick-or-treaters. Phil had another standard pump shotgun, a couple boxes of shells, and a couple of pistols. Cody shrugged at us.

“No guns in the first car. I found a duffel bag, though.”

Phil wandered off to the next car in the line.

“That's good, we can carry what we find in that,” I told Cody.

As silently as we could, we went through all of the cars. Finally, I sneaked over to Brandon's truck and tried the door. No luck, it was locked. I looked up at the house as I heard more shouts. Even more zombies swarmed around the cabin. Some of the zombies seemed to be moving awfully fast.
Damn
. I heard the
pop pop
of a handgun. Okay, they had some protection in there. They could use more.

“Oh, my God!”

I spun around at the sound of Cody's exclamation. He and Phil stood on the other side of the car admiring something.

“What is it?” I whispered.

Phil held up a rifle that looked like it could kill you just by looking at it.

“What the hell is that?” I asked.

“AR-fifteen,” he answered, “and about a million clips for it. Who's car is this?”

“I think it's Ken's,” I said.

“I have a newfound respect for him. What's in the truck?”

“There are a couple of shotguns in here, but it's locked.”

“Not for long,” Phil said, and smiled for maybe the first time ever. As he walked over to me, he reached around to his back pocket. He pulled out a Leatherman and opened it to the screwdriver. He motioned for me to step back.

I said, “I get the Benelli.”

“You can have it,” he said. “I have this.” He brandished the machine gun.

I stepped away and he put the tip of the driver in the center of the window. He applied pressure and the window shattered inward. Then the truck's alarm started screeching.

We all froze. I checked out the zombie's reaction to this. A bunch of the speedy zombies were running at us full-tilt and a few of the regular flavor were lumbering behind them.

“Kill the alarm!” Cody had one of the shotguns pressed against his shoulder. He looked like he was going to lose his cool soon.

I threw open the truck door, crawled inside, and scrambled over the seat into the back. A boom sounded right next to the truck followed by a series of bangs and another boom. I guess the zombies had reached Phil and Cody.

I got the shotguns off the rack and turned to throw them into the front of the cab. Before I could do that, one of the zombies flung itself into the truck and lunged at me. I batted at it with the double-barrel and dropped the Benelli. It swiped at me and I avoided it by pressing myself back against the seat. Then I swung the butt of the shotgun into its face and drove it away. That gave me enough room to swing the barrel around and point it in the thing's face.

“Choke on this,” I said, and pulled the trigger.

And nothing happened. It wasn't loaded. Why couldn't I hook up with a boy irresponsible enough to go around with loaded guns in his truck? The thing lunged again and I used the shotgun to keep it at bay. Then I started screaming.

After a second, I heard footsteps on the gravel outside, and the
pop pop pop
of machine gun fire filled the cab and nearly deafened me. Despite that, it was pure joy watching that monster fly into pieces.

Phil opened the mini-door in the back of the truck, and over the ringing in my ears I heard him ask if I was okay.

“Peachy,” I shouted. “There's no goddamned ammo.”

Phil rooted around on the floorboards and under the seats. After a second he struggled with something and then stood and pulled out a big ammo box. He opened it and I saw it was stuffed with shells.

“Gimme some of those,” I said, and I fed eight shells into the automatic shotgun.

I heard Cody's boomstick roar to life again and then I heard him yell something at Phil that I couldn't quite make out. Phil looked me right in the face to make sure I'd hear what I needed.

“Cody says we have to move,” he said. “The shufflers are just about on us.” He helped me out of the truck.

Cody was reloading so Phil took out the couple of shufflers closest to us, dropping them with impressive efficiency. He might have been a little scary, but I liked how he got stuff done.

“What's next?” I said as Phil slammed another clip into the rifle and put a round in the chamber.

“We walk to the house, I guess,” he said. “Stay together, like in a little circle. Watch each other's backs. Sound good?” Cody nodded, then he looked at me. “Ready?”

“Why not?” I said.

We did like Phil said. They let me take point so I wouldn't have to walk backward. We crawled along to make sure we didn't get separated. A zombie diverted its course to come at us and I pulled the trigger. The recoil nearly broke my shoulder. The zombie was nice enough to fall to the ground and not get up again.

I heard the boys firing their weapons, too. I figured as long as I kept hearing that, we'd be safe and we'd make it. The cabin got closer and closer. Now there were more zombies, both shufflers, and runners. The runners were the worst. You wouldn't know they were even aware of you and then all of a sudden they'd turn and be right on top of you. I pulled the trigger more out of instinct than anything. The worst part was that they didn't really look like zombies. No chew marks, no herky-jerky movements. Something tugged at the edge of my awareness, but then I lost it as I had to kill a new shuffler.

Even though it wasn't far from the shed to the cabin, we had to stop three times so we could reload. I never let the monsters get close enough to touch me and I was still covered in a lot of gore from their exploded heads. If I'd had time to think about it, I'd probably have puked.
I'll never get this dress clean,
I thought and I made a sound that was half-laugh, half-hysterical scream.

“Keep it together!” Phil yelled.

We got to the back door and I saw it was barred by a table or something. I banged on it with the butt of the shotgun.

“Let us in,” I yelled. “It's me, Courtney!”

“No way!” A boy's voice. “We can't open it. I'm sorry.”

“Are you freaking kidding me?”

And then I heard another voice. “Courtney?” It was Crystal. “Get out of the way, asshole, and get that table out of there. Open the stupid door!”

Phil and Cody fired off a volley of rounds as the folks on the other side of the door took down the barricade. Finally it opened. I'd never been so happy to see a bunch of jocks. The three of us ran inside and the folks who opened the door got it closed again and the table propped against it. The four kids, Crystal and three boys, took us in with sunken, too-wide eyes. I'm sure we looked the same to them.

“Where's Brandon?”

“In the living room, I think,” Crystal told me.

“Give them a shotgun,” I said.

“Shotgun?” one of the jocks asked.

“We come bearing gifts,” Cody said, and dug a shotgun out of the duffel and then Phil scooped some shells out of the ammo box.

We trooped into the living room to see what was what out there.

Brandon was helping to hold things against the window. Tables, bookshelves, anything solid. Three or four boys to each of the two big windows in the living room, and two held an upturned couch across the door. Shattered glass and blood stained the carpet around the windows. All of the girls at the party and a small group of boys huddled in the center of the room. A couple of the girls whimpered every time a zombie thudded against the barricades. It took all my strength not to tell them to shut the hell up.

The group on the floor saw us first and looked around to see if maybe we'd brought reinforcements. Sadly, it was just us. When Brandon saw us, he called for one of the boys to come replace him at the window.

He gave me a quick hug, then stopped when I didn't return it. It wasn't exactly the time for a Nicholas Sparks moment. He backed away and his glum expression changed when he saw what we were carrying.

“Oh, my God, you guys. This is so awesome!” He picked up the double-barrel shotgun that had been in the back of his truck. He cracked it open and loaded it. “This makes me feel a lot better.” I was just glad that he didn't want the shotgun I'd picked for myself.

“We need some sort of plan,” Phil said. “Has anyone called the police?”

“Natalie did,” Brandon answered, and pointed to a girl in the group on the floor. “Service out here is really shitty. She barely got a signal and she could barely hear them on the other end.”

“I don't know if they heard me,” a girl with long black hair and a big gash in her cheek said. Blood flowed down her neck and stained her white dress red. “I don't know if any help is on the way.”

“You're bleeding,” I said. “Did a zombie get you?”

She shook her head.

“Flying glass,” Brandon said. “They took us by surprise and grabbed three kids on the porch before we knew what was going on. I guess that's why you called, right?”

“Yeah,” I said.

There was a thump and the boys nearest the door scrambled to make sure the table they held up stayed in place. A girl screamed and Natalie shushed her and held her close.

“We need to get out of here,” Phil said.

“To where?” the screaming girl demanded. “We're safe in here! There's no way I'm going out there!”

“Hush, Cass,” Natalie said.

“She has a point,” Brandon said. “Where would we go that's safer than where we are?”

“Everyone's parked out on the side,” Phil said. “Get to the cars and leave this place behind.”

“That's suicide,” Cass said. “You can go suck it if you think I'm leaving here.”

“We can do it,” I said, and all eyes were on me. “We can do it the way Phil, Cody, and me moved across the yard. People with guns on the outside and everyone else in the center. Like the Spartans, right, but with better firepower.”

“No way,” Cass said, and I was tempted to walk over and smack her. “There's no way that'll work, and why is anyone listening to these three outcasts anyway?”

“Hey,” Cody said. “I haven't even said anything.”

“It could work,” Brandon said.

“What are you talking about?” Cass shrieked.