Return of the Jed (31 page)

He paused again, this time putting his arm around my shoulders. His look this time was of sympathy as he gave me a slight squeeze.

“We must never forget, however, that Jed is the exception, not the rule. He lives—or rather, is undead—with great disadvantages. He faces innumerable stereotypes that will haunt him to his grave, should he ever have one.

“Already, he deals with peers who mistreat him based solely on his physical attributes. Those who don’t know him automatically fear him, since all they know about the undead is what they’ve seen in movies. Imagine the obstacles poor Jed will face when applying for a job, his resume immediately thrown into the ‘Zombie—potentially brain-dead’ pile. And when it comes to finding the right romantic partner, well, I doubt we will ever see a dating site called Zombiemingle.com.”

I froze in place, not knowing what to do. Dr. Armendariz was verbally ripping from me things far more painful than any limbs. No amount of duct and staples could reattach the dignity and respect being shredded before my very eyes.

I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping he’d stop and get to, well, whatever it was I had to endure next. Inject me, hook me to machines, throw a switch. Anything to stop what he was saying.

A voice piped up from the crowd.

“Doctor, are you suggesting this young man is actually a zombie?”

I opened one eye, curious. A woman in the front row, who seemed far too pretty to be here, stood and pointed at him. “I’ve been abducted by aliens more than a dozen times, probed and examined by all sorts of intelligent extraterrestrial species. They’ve shared with me the world’s greatest secrets, from the true origin of life to the vast underground network of immortals that truly run our planet. And not once have I ever heard of anything as ridiculous as zombies.”

Dr. Armendariz didn’t bat an eye. “Dr. Gable, I am well aware of your skepticism and will be happy to demonstrate.”

I did not like the sound of that.

Worried, I turned to Dad for support. He took a step toward me before Spike put out his arm to stop him. Spike whispered something to Dad, who took a step back and looked down, unable to meet my gaze.

I heard a gasp from the crowd before registering a tug on my left wrist, as if Dr. Armendariz wanted my attention.

At that point, he had more than my attention. He had my left arm, at least the part from the elbow down. He’d pulled it off so quickly I didn’t have time to react. He brandished my forearm across his chest like a weapon. All I could think was, “Armed and dangerous.”

“Notice Jed remains pain-free, was even unaware he’d lost his arm until he saw me holding it,” Dr. Armendariz said.

The crowd sat in stunned silence as he continued with this so-called demonstration.

“Luke, if you please,” he said, nodding toward the back of the room. I heard a metallic zip followed by rummaging—he was searching for staples and duct tape.

“No need for the usual supplies, young man,” Dr. Armendariz said. “I merely need you to hold the wayward limb in place.”

I knew what that meant. My “healing” was about to start.

Within seconds, Luke hopped onto the stage. Dr. Armendariz handed Luke my arm.

With so many things happening so quickly, my mind shut down. For the first time in my life, I felt truly brain-dead. Like a robot, I lifted my left stub, remaining still, as Luke popped my forearm into place.

“Perfect, Luke,” Dr. Armendariz said. “Please keep it steady for a few moments.”

The doctor reached into one pocket and pulled out a familiar vial. From another pocket he withdrew a syringe. He held the vial overhead, the light bouncing off it and dancing along the walls. The needle sank easily through the rubber stopper, and the liquid slowly filled the syringe as Dr. Armendariz drew back the plunger.

“This … is Substance Z,” he said with a dramatic flair. “In just a few moments you will see how it interacts with Jed’s own zombie fluid to counteract the undeadness.”

As the needle approached my arm, I floated above my body, becoming a spectator instead of a participant. Closer and closer, until the sharp point touched flesh right at the point of separation before disappearing into my muscle.

A sharp pain drew me back into reality. I’d never felt anything like it before, and wondered how norms tolerated scrapes and burns and other injuries. They were tougher than I thought.

Next thing I knew, Dr. Armendariz held his portable electromagnetic device next to my arm. A strong tingling replaced the pain, a welcome relief.

Then came a feeling I’d had before. A comforting warmth flared in my elbow, accompanied by a series of tremors. It was as if my muscle fibers stretched across the abyss of the dismemberment, seeking out their partners.

The tremors were followed by strong cramping, my arm muscles tensing so strongly they felt like steel. I imagined tiny yet powerful men inside my elbow forging new muscle, bone, and flesh. My elbow thrummed with their efforts. A minute passed. Two.

Until my elbow caught fire.

I instinctively slapped at it with my right hand, hoping to put out the flames.

Only there weren’t any. When I opened my arms and looked, I saw none of the charred flesh I expected.

Just my elbow. Pink and fleshy, like a newborn.

And in one piece. No cut, no seam, no scar.

Just an elbow. A normal elbow.

“Dude, what the heck,” Luke said, marveling at my new joint as if it were a newly discovered—and very delicious—source of protein. “No way I’d believe it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. Or even your eyes. And you’re the one with a new elbow.”

“Some things never change,” I said. “You still don’t make sense.”

I flexed the new elbow, turning it this way and that. It felt better. Stronger.

Is this what being normal was like? If so, how could that be a bad thing?

“Ladies and gentlemen, it seems our young zombie is pleased with the outcome,” Dr. Armendariz said. “Shall we continue with the rest of the procedure?”

A man’s voice answered, “Absolutely. I had my doubts about you, doctor, but this is the most remarkable thing I’ve seen since Atlantis when the mermen took me into their trust.”

Luke nudged me. “These people need hobbies where being crazy is not a requirement.”

“Agreed,” I said, flexing my left arm again and marveling at its newness.

Dr. Armendariz shoved past Luke and put his arm around my shoulder once again. “Shall we proceed?”

I nodded.

Luke patted me on the back. “Good luck. Hope this is what you really want.”

I said nothing in return as he joined Dad and Spike in the wings. Dad grinned ear to ear, the first time I’d seen him do that since we came to Mexico.

“Jed, if you would please remove your T-shirt so I can properly administer Substance Z,” Dr. Armendariz. “And
Señor
Vasquez, if you could bring out the gurney, I’d be very thankful.”

Gurney? What gurney?

“The one I’m placing you on to ensure a smooth process,” Dr. Armendariz answered, letting me know I’d reacted out loud again.

“Why? What are you going to do?”

Metallic rattles and squeals interrupted our conversation. Spike rolled out the gurney, a thin mattress supported on an aluminum frame. “Here you go, doc,” he said. “Looks like things are going as smooth as an oiled track at a NASCAR race.”

It shocked me how Spike’s folksy saying made sense, until I envisioned cars careening on a slippery track and the disaster that would result.

It didn’t strike me until it was all over that Spike knew exactly what he was saying. As if he were the only one to know where this was headed.

Before I was secured to the gurney, my heart kicking in as the last buckle snapped home, Dr. Armendariz explained to everyone what was about to happen. As I listened, I wished he’d let me know first.

“First, our subject will remove his shirt to allow physical and visual access to the transformation about to occur,” Dr. Armendariz said.

I stood still, a zombie deer in fast-approaching headlights. A slight sheen of Ooze cooled my forehead.

“As I said, our subject will remove his shirt, an important step before we begin proceedings.” Dr. Armendariz rephrased his statement.

Thoughts buzzed through my head. What would kids call me when this was done? No Longer Dead Jed? The Zombie Formerly Known as Dead Jed? But what if they didn’t call me anything at all? What if it was, “Remember that zombie? Whatever happened to him?”

Dr. Armendariz’s voice pierced the fog. “Perhaps our subject needs assistance in this mundane yet vital step.”

My shirt, right. Remove it. I started with the top button, undoing each as quickly as I could. Which wasn’t very quickly at all.

On the third button, I turned my head toward Luke, who’d retreated to the wings after helping reattach my arm.

Sure enough, his fingers were curled in front of his lips, ready to unleash a wolf-whistle as I stripped down. I stopped my hands and slowly shook my head side to side.

Luke dropped his hands too.

After undoing the last button, I slid off my shirt and tossed it to the side. A cold breeze appeared from nowhere and rippled across my chest. I looked down to see Ooze oozing. Which was why I called it Ooze.

A movement at the back of the room caught my eye. The man in denim stood and stepped into the aisle, the flyer still rolled in his hand. He took a step forward and stopped, as if unsure of what he was doing. He swiveled his back to the stage and disappeared into the shadows, the bright lights in my eyes making it impossible to see where he’d gone.

A fleeting thought—was it Bob the zombie, driven by curiosity? Could he have possibly resisted the urge to see another member of a very exclusive club?

“For our patient’s comfort, we will place him on this gurney,” Dr. Armendariz said, putting the wheeled bed between us and bringing me back to the current situation. “All I need to do is tilt it just so to provide the best viewing angle.”

He knelt and fiddled with the various knobs and pegs, but the gurney stayed in position. More twirling, more shaking, but the gurney stayed flat.

“I’m sorry, I’m good with bedside manners, but not so skilled with the beds themselves,” Dr. Armendariz said. “
Señor
Vasquez, might you be able to assist?”

Spike bounded onstage, almost too excited. He flipped a handle, and in seconds tilted the gurney to a forty-five degree angle.

Before exiting, he gripped my shoulder and whispered in my ear, “This will make you a new man. If that’s what you want.” He winked and disappeared into the wings.

“Jed, if you will take your position on the gurney, we’ll get started,” Dr. Armendariz said, still looking at the audience as if I wasn’t there.

And in a way, I wasn’t. I felt myself carried along by currents, no longer in control of my own fate.

I just wished I knew where it was headed.

I stepped into the gurney and leaned back. A calmness settled over me.

Until I felt the first strap go across my ankles.

I snapped upright. “Doc, what’s going on?”

“Nothing to worry about, Jed,” he said, turning again to the audience. “I am securing the subject for his own safety. The process can be a bit, let’s say, unnerving, as muscles may involuntarily tense, some perhaps violently.”

He turned back to me, placed a hand on my chest, and pushed me back to the bed. When he removed his hand, thin strands of Ooze stretched from his fingers.

“This is a good sign,” he said, wiping his hands on his lab coat. “Your body is reacting as I’d predicted.”

“What do you mean, as you’d predicted?” I said. “You think you know how all this is going to end, don’t you? But what if it doesn’t? What then?”

“My boy, all I meant to say was that in this case, all Ooze is good Ooze. While I suspect you have more than enough to react positively with Substance Z, these secretions are a very good sign indeed. I promise you, after this you are going to be a new man.”

Spike’s words came back to me. “If that’s what I want,” I muttered.

“What was that, Jed?” Dr. Armendariz said, cinching a strap across my waist and trapping my arms in place before attaching a half-dozen sticky packs to my chest, wires leading to a complicated-looking machine filled with knobs, switches, and lights.

“Nothing,”

“Of course. We’re nearly done here,” he said, snapping the last belt around my chest and pulling it snug, leaving me very little wriggle room.

“Dr. Armendariz, that’s a little tight,” I said, feeling trapped. “A little looser, please.”

He leaned next to me ear. “I’m sorry, Jed, it’s too late for comfort. This is about changing the world. Staving off the zombie apocalypse before it even starts. And if a little fame and fortune come my way, who am I to say no?”

He lifted away and gave the belt a final tug, making his point.

That’s when I knew deep in my heart. This wasn’t about me. This was about Dr. Armendariz showing everyone he wasn’t a crackpot. He had discovered, and was about to cure, a real-life zombie.

I wriggled back and forth, feeling the straps loosen just a bit. Or it could have been just in my mind.