Return of the Jed (26 page)

“OK, OK, I get it,” I said. “You mentioned needing something to get them to mingle.” I hesitated, not sure I really wanted to know the answer. Perhaps it was best to leave well enough alone.

Brain stepped in, forcing me to ask the question from which there was no return.

“So what will make them mix?”

Dr. Armendariz motioned me closer. I leaned in, ready for a whisper.

“Voltage!” he shouted in my ear.

He took four quick steps to a metal table filled with a wide assortment of sharp and serrated instruments that would be perfect for a surgical room or a torture chamber. Their purpose was to cut, probe, and otherwise dissect. Being undead, I didn’t fear them all that much.

A clatter of metal on metal echoed off the shiny white linoleum floor as Dr. Armendariz picked through the instruments. “It’s here, just had it … ah.”

When he turned, Dr. Armendariz held what looked like two tweezers attached to one another by a thin copper coil threaded through a small black box suspended in the middle.

“My own invention,” he said. “This generates a mild electromagnetic field between these two poles. Powered by a triple-A battery. Ingenious.”

”That’s a pretty cool device,” Dad said.

“I knew I had to invent it as soon as I saw it on the Internet,” the doctor said.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Of course it does. The battery sends a current through this coil and to the poles. Line them up and you produce the electromagnetic field. It makes perfect sense.”

“That not what I … never mind,” Dad said. He’d learned not to follow Dr. Armendariz down rabbit holes.

Dr. Armendariz stood in front of the microscope and bracketed the slide with the two tweezers. “Now, take a look.”

I leaned toward the eyepiece, prepared for just about anything except what awaited.

Blobs and dots. Nothing but blobs and dots. Something swept through me, like fresh breeze. Relief?

“Nothing’s changed,” I said. “Maybe you were wrong. Maybe—”

“Ah, I see the problem,” Dr. Armendariz said. “Mr. Rivers, could you please come over here and just flip that little switch. Yes, that’s it. Thank you. Now, Jed, what do you see?”

I had no idea how it happened because everything moved so quickly. But the blobs and dots came together and lined up in a perfect military formation. Each row was arranged precisely the same in alternating blobs and dots. Columns of blobs marched next to columns of dots.

Within the next thirty seconds or so, the black particles began to shimmer and vibrate, going in and out of focus. A minute passed, then two. The blobs and dots slowly morphed into one another, and soon I couldn’t tell one from another.

Ooze and Substance Z not only shook hands. They became identical, each one a black dot with a slightly fuzzy edge, a blend of their distinct features.

What the heck?

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Dr. Armendariz returned the device to the steel table. “And it’s permanent. You see I’ve removed the electromagnetic field, yet Substance Z and Ooze remain as one. Apart, they seem to lend themselves to creating a state of undeadness. But together they form an impermeable bond, making one stronger without even a hint of zombie effects. I believe all traces of undeadness would disappear, resulting in a subject that is new and improved. A life in which limbs remain intact. At least that’s how it appears in these early experiments. It is promising indeed.”

Dr. Armendariz stared at me. “There is just one thing left to do.”

I knew what it was. I imagined a needle filled with Substance Z sliding into me, each Z molecule searching out an Ooze molecule, meeting, mingling, changing who I was—

“Oozey,” Dr. Armendariz said.

I hadn’t heard right. Had I?

“What?”

“Oozey,” he repeated. “But you spell it oh, oh, hyphen, big Z. A combination of Ooze and Substance Z. Oo-Z.”

“What does that have to do with the one thing left …” The world spun the more I thought about what the new Ooze meant.

Back at the hotel, Dad had hinted at a life-changing decision ahead. He’d described a simpler life, one where I blended in seamlessly. No stares or odd looks. No one crossing the street if I was coming toward them. No gasps of horror when I raced around a corner and a leg bounced into traffic.

Would I consider a life like that?

Of course, I’d told him. But I didn’t say what was really on my mind. If I needed “fixing,” it meant I was broken.

That conversation bounced around my head as I listened to Dr. Armendariz.

“Every great discovery depends on a great name, one short and suitable for when it goes viral,” he continued. “And it will go viral, if you know what I mean. It’s a virus, get it? I think it’s a virus, anyway.”

“Doc, that name sucks,” Luke said. “Oo-Z sounds too much like Uzi, a machinegun. A machinegun kills, but Oo-Z, uh, well, I have no idea what Oo-Z is supposed to do, but I’m pretty sure it doesn’t kill. At least I hope it doesn’t because Jed is dead enough already.”

I knew by now what Dr. Armendariz thought Oo-Z would do. It was just as Dad hinted last night. Angry pitchfork-bearing mobs got you down? Chase the zombie blues way with a dab of Oo-Z. “How about Zooze?” Luke said. “Or Sub-Ooze. Oozetastic. Oozalicious. Ooze-ificent. The New Ooze. No Ooze is Good Ooze.”

My skull throbbed. I put my fists to my temples and tried to shut everything out. I needed silence, some time to think.

“Bad Ooze Bears. No Time to Ooze. Taking an Ooze Cruise.”

The pounding, everything so loud, so abnormal, wish I were normal—

“Me and You and a Dog Named Ooze, Time to Pay Your Ooze—

“
SHUT UP, FOR GOD’S SAKE, PLEASE SHUT UP
.” I flopped to the floor, curled into a ball, and put my head between my knees. I squeezed my eyes shut, blocking out everything.

No Ooze. No mad scientist. No Luke. No Dad.

Just me.

Me.

And sandpaper across my nose followed by a cold breath smelling of dog food left for days in the sun.

“Hey, Tread,” I said, cupping his muzzle in my right palm. “You’ll always be there, won’t you, boy? No matter who I am—what I am—you’ll never leave me. After all, I made you what you are today.”

There was nothing left to do but cry.

That’s exactly what I did, until everything went black.

Brain: “Dude, you there? You must be, I can hear you not breathing.”

Me: “Luke, is that you?”

Brain: “No, this is your brain, which is doing all it can right now to not feel insulted by your case of mistaken identity.”

Me: “What’s happening?”

Brain: “You passed out. And in fact, are still passed out. So I thought I’d take this opportunity to say: What the heck are you thinking? Wait, I know what you’re thinking. That’s my job.”

Me: “Is this real life?”

Brain: “No, more of a construct of subconscious. But still very important because you have a decision to make.”

Me: “I know. And I’m not ready. I need more time to think.”

Brain: “That’s my job. That’s why I’d love to share with you just some of the benefits that come with being a card-carrying member of the living, breathing world. Did you know that as a non-undead person, you can save $38.72 each month on duct tape and staples, simply by not buying them?”

Me: “I never thought about it.”

Brain: “Actually you have. Millions of time. Remember, I do the thinking. You can’t hide it from me.”

Me: “Good point.”

Brain: “I know. Also, when you join the human race, living edition, you’re entitled to all the perks. Good breath. Strong bones and teeth. Limbs that remain intact when grabbed by those seeking to do you harm.”

Me: “Go on.”

Brain: “Then there are the many advantages of what
WON’T
happen simply because you’re different with a capital
D
. No getting shoved into lockers. No unscheduled flights into the nearest trash bin. And best yet, no burning hot glares from the spotlight you feel when walking into a new place.”

Me: “That would be nice.”

Brain: “Nice? That would be
awesome
. I could spend more time on the important stuff, like figuring out what you’re going to be when you grow up, instead of coming up with ways to get you out of your latest predicaments. Do you know just how draining this little trip to Mexico has been?”

Me: “I realize that, and I’m sorry. But I still don’t know if I’m ready to become someone so completely different.”

Brain: “Oh no, you’re thinking of Anna. Now you think you’re blushing. You are such a dead-head case.”

Me: “Anna loves me for who I am. She’s in my life because of who I am. I don’t want that to change.”

Brain: “If Anna loves you for who you are, then she will love you when your cardiovascular system finally conforms to the medical definition of life.”

Me: “I guess. I never thought of that before.”

Brain: “Yes. You have. Millions of times.”

Me: “You’re right. If I do, you know, change, then it won’t be awkward at our wedding when the minister says, ‘Anna, do you take Jed until death, uh, well, let’s skip this part.’”

Brain: “Marriage? Now I’m wondering if this is real life. Anyway, it’s been fun, but it’s time to return you to your regularly scheduled undead life.”

“Dude, you there? You must be, I can hear you not breathing.”

“Brain, you still there?”

“You’ve called me a lot of things, but ‘Brain’ has never been one of them.”

Luke’s voice. I’d returned from wherever it was I’d been. IF my conversation with Brain had really happened.

“Luke,” I muttered.

“Live and in person,” he said. “Which is more than you can say, at least when it comes to the ‘live’ part.”

Reality slowly returned.

I was stretched out on the exam table, Dad and Luke floating above. My head continued to clear, just a few cobwebs left.

“The gray is returning to your face,” Dad said. “So that’s good.”

“What was it before?” I asked.

Dad hesitated, so Luke cut in. “It was a little red, like, you know.”

“Like a norm,” I said.

“Yeah. We thought we broke a zombie. That would’ve sucked.”

“Maybe not.”

I tightened my stomach and sat up, and could feel what little blood I had continue to drain from my head.

I was feeling more like my undead self. I stretched my arms overhead, flexing each at the elbow while lifting my legs, one at a time.

Still in working order, and joints felt secure. Nothing like another truckload of fear and trepidation to keep the Ooze factory working overtime. Though there was a softness in my right hip. I probed the area with my fingers, feeling a slight mushiness.

“Sorry about that,” Dad said. “When we lifted you onto the table, we didn’t notice Tread had locked his jaws onto your shoe. He came up with you, pulling your leg out of joint.”

“Just part of being a zombie,” I said. As I continued to press, the Ooze tingled in the joint, doing its thing as always.

“I didn’t know zombies could pass out when no blunt force to the head was involved,” Luke said, his brows stitched with worry. I hadn’t seen that look on him since the Buffet Rodeo announced it was discontinuing its all-you-can-eat policy.

“I blacked out? Seriously?” That explained having absolutely no recollection of going from floor to exam table.

“Weird,” Luke continued. “I’ve seen you lose three out of four limbs, and you’re still screaming I haven’t won until I pin you.”

“Those are just flesh wounds. But this stuff with the new Ooze—”

“Sub-Ooze. That’s what we’re calling it. Good for Twitter and T-shirts.”

I put my head down again, the world swirling.

I knew what Dr. Armendariz wanted to do, once he settled on the name for this new substance. He planned to decrease the world’s zombie population by one, resulting in extinction of the undead species (human variety).

Even if Substance Z and Ooze mixed to do just that—create reformed zombies, allowing the once-undead to embrace real life—maybe this was one zombie who embraced his undeadness. If I were just another inflatable bag of flesh, I’d have to go to the hospital for something as minor as losing a hand. I’d have blood and all the pressure that went along with it. Days would be filled with breathing, which is so monotonous. Maybe even tiring.