Zombified (3 page)

I exchanged a look with Phil. He looked as clueless as me.

“It's sad because . . .” I said. I left the conversational door open for her to slip through.

“I don't like to think about it,” Crystal said and slammed the door shut. She shrugged and turned toward me again. A weak smile played at her lips. “So, what were you up to all summer?”

I cleared my throat and stared at my coffee. This very normal question really stumped me. I felt like I'd grown up in a bomb shelter and knew nothing of the world outside. I opened my mouth to say
something,
when Phil answered for me.

“She was grounded all summer.”

I fought for air as my throat constricted. That was true, of course, but I think I might have taken a different tack. Phil sipped his drink and I felt Crystal's gaze fall on me.

“Why was that?” she asked.

I glared at Phil and I hoped that he'd either die instantly or at least keep his stupid piehole zipped tight.

“I just got in some trouble,” I said. My cheeks grew hot and I clenched my teeth. Slipping into embarrassment was one of my least favorite things, even though it happened pretty often.

“What sort of . . .” Crystal's voice faltered. She looked from Phil, who was doing his best to pretend he was somewhere far away, to me. Her smile fell away. God, she probably imagined the worst. Was she at the table with a cannibal? Had I been caught selling babies? “What sort of trouble?”

There was really no way to sugarcoat it. I took a deep breath and just dived in.

“I admitted to my dad that I'd been selling drugs.”

Crystal was in mid-sip and I thought she was going to choke on her coffee. She coughed and sputtered and set her cup down so hard that foam shot out through the hole in the plastic top. A few of the people in surrounding tables looked over at us.

“What kind of drugs?” Crystal demanded.

The people around us had gone from glancing to staring. Business dudes, moms with little kids, a cute couple on their first date. They'd all gone from living their lives to being cast as extras in an episode of
The Wire
.

“Crystal,” I said and got no further.

“What drugs, Courtney?” she said. Her voice was quieter, but now she leaned forward and gritted her teeth. I fought the urge to move away from her. “And did Brandon know?”

“It was Vitamin Z,” I whispered. My stomach flopped a couple of times. “And yes, Brandon knew.”

Crystal shot up out of her chair, which skidded back and tipped over. The sound was like a gunshot in the now-silent coffee shop. All eyes were on the Crystal and Courtney show.

Phil put his hands on the table and kept his eyes on Crystal. I think he was getting ready to jump in in case she decided to come across the table after me. Instead, she grabbed up her bag.

“See you around, Courtney,” she said. Her tone told me she wasn't going to be seeking me out again anytime soon. She marched to the door. On the way out, she stopped and turned. “And say ‘hi' to Brandon when you see him.” Then she was gone.

I kept my gaze down at the table, studying the grain on the fake wood like its pattern held some sort of secret. Phil stood and walked away. A second later, I heard him pick up the chair and replace it at the table. Then he came around and put his hand on my arm. I gasped at his touch and almost pulled away, but I let him help me to stand.

“Let's go,” he said.

I nodded. The light in the shop looked funny, and I realized it was because tears were messing with my sight. I blinked and wet trails ran down my cheeks. Great. I knew from experience how shitty I looked after crying.

Phil held on to my upper arm and guided me out onto the street. The sounds of traffic and conversation were a welcome change from the silence we'd just left. Though I did hear more than one person stop talking as they saw me walking past.

“I'm sorry,” Phil said.

“Why?” I asked, and my voice barely reached my own ears.

“I just am,” he said. “Because that sucked. Because she was shitty to you. Take your pick.”

“She was right to be mean to me,” I said. Now that I'd been sucked into self-pity, I'd really found my groove.

“Hell, no,” Phil said as we reached the car. He unlocked the door and helped me into the passenger seat. I felt like an invalid. Some sort of social leper who was meant to stay away from society. Oh, man, this was going to be a pity party of epic proportions. He climbed in behind the wheel and got us going toward home. At some point, he dug tissues out of the glove box and handed them to me. I blew my nose and wiped gummy mascara away from my eyes— not with the same tissue. I just hoped my dad would still be gone when I got home. I didn't want to explain to him why I was already an emotional wreck so early in the school year.

Music blared from the radio. I think Phil knew I didn't want to talk.

We finally pulled up to my house and Phil let the car sit idling. I looked up and down the street—no shufflers to be seen on the street—though I might have welcomed a zombie attack at that point. I didn't see my dad's car, either, so that was good.

“Want me to come inside?” Phil asked.

I thought about that. Under other circumstances I'd welcome the chance to get him alone in the house, but not just then.

“No,” I said. “I'll be okay.”

He nodded and I wasn't sure whether or not he believed me.

“This was a really crappy first day of school,” I said.

“Maybe it's all puppies and rainbows after this,” he said.

“I seriously doubt that,” I said.

He grinned for just a second. “Me, too,” he said. “But you'll handle it.”

With that I got out of the car and darted through the chain-link fence into my yard. I waved good-bye as he pulled away. Why did he have so much faith in me? Why did he think I'd be able to handle all of this garbage when I wasn't so sure myself? Great, now I felt like I had to bear up to it or I'd disappoint Phil.

“Asshole,” I said to no one at all.

Then I went into the house to wash my face before Dad got home.

CHAPTER THREE

T
he next day wasn't much better. If anything, there seemed to be an escalation in hostilities from the Jocktocracy. My books were knocked out of my arms on more than one occasion. People hissed unsavory names in my ear. In general, I felt like a Black Panther at a Republican convention. (We'd just started a unit on the civil rights era in A.P. History . . .) The only thing that salvaged the day was when Phil's friend, and our frequent partner in late-night shenanigans, Cody suggested a zombie hunt.

“I think a ghoul hunt might do our little Courtney a world of good,” he said to Phil. Speaking about me as if I wasn't there was a great source of amusement for our boy Cody.

“Our little Courtney,” I said. “Keep up that kind of talk and I'm going to use you as bait, pinhead.”

His smile faltered.

“But he's right,” I said to Phil. Turnabout is fair, right? “Going out tonight and catching some Zs might be what I need.”

“Sure,” said Phil. “It's been a few nights since we went out. Let's do it.”

We agreed to get together well after our parental units went to bed.

I drifted through the rest of my day trying to make myself as small and unnoticeable as possible. Still, lots of glares followed me through the halls. Though, for some reason, it seemed like people from my social phylum were being nicer to me. Maybe they thought I'd been raked over the coals enough already. Or they were trying to get me to lower my defenses so they could properly kick my ass.

At one point, Carol Langworthy sidled up to me as I walked the halls between class.

“Hey, Hart,” she said. She smiled at me and exposed braces that I swear she'd been sporting since kindergarten. I'd consider a malpractice suit against her orthodontist if I were her parents.

“Hey,” I said warily.

“So, a new guy was asking about you.” She said it with a thick layer of amazement in her voice. Like the fact that a boy asked about me was something she wasn't able to wrap her wee brain around.

“Yeah?” I said, trying to play it cool. “Who was he?”

“His name is Warren,” Carol said. “He's new to town. Just started school.”

Warren! Now I had a name. “Who is he, though? What's he look like?” I asked. “Not that I'm shallow or anything. I just want to be able to spot him.”

She frowned and then said, “Oh, you know. He's tall. Kind of good-looking.”

“Right,” I said. “I'll keep my eyes out for a tall, good-looking guy. That's very helpful, Carol.”

“Yeah, well,” she said, pointing down a side hall, “I gotta go to Algebra.”

Algebra, for God's sake. She was a senior and hadn't even mastered domain and range yet. Enjoy your career in the service industry, Carol!

I waved good-bye and headed off to class feeling only slightly like a bitch.

Waiting for my dad to go to bed that night was like special torture. We had leftovers and watched a TV show about a cop who was trying to catch a serial killer who used zombies to commit murders. Then I did homework while Dad stayed up forever working on something or other for his work. Dad taught psychology at the local community college, so I guess he was grading papers, or building a wire mother, or something? I didn't ask him—I was too busy trying to psychically will him to go to sleep. Finally, after eleven, he stood and stretched and yawned, his potbelly straining against his polo shirt.

“I'm hitting the hay,” he said. “Don't stay up too late, okay?”

“I'm going to be right behind you,” I said. Which was technically true. I was going to my bed; I just wasn't going to sleep.

Dad went off to his room and closed his door and I did the same. I texted Phil that we were on. As quietly as I could, I dressed for the night—black jeans, my Dr. Martens, and a black sweatshirt. I lay down on top of my covers to wait for Phil and Cody to show.

The next thing I knew, a tapping noise woke me and my heart was beating a million times a minute. I had absolutely no clue where I was. I wiped drool from my chin and squinted at the window above my bed. Phil stood out there, fist raised, ready to knock some more. I climbed up and slid the window open.

“You were really out,” Phil said. I looked past him and saw Cody hanging out of the rear passenger window of the car. “I've been knocking for a while.”

“Yep,” I said. “I guess I passed out. Back up.”

He did as I asked and I crawled out the window. I gave him a quick hug and felt his body tense up. He was still getting used to the idea of being touched, I guess. I hoped he'd start to like it.

“Let's go,” he said.

We walked through the yard, and Phil held the chain-link gate open for me. Ever the gentleman, I suppose. Cody waved at me, excited. If he was a dog, his body would be shaking with the force of his wagging tail. I gave him a curt beauty queen wave in return.

After we got ourselves in the car and pulled away, Phil asked me, “Were you dreaming?”

“What do you mean?”

“When I looked in at you, you were sort of thrashing around,” he said. “I figured you were dreaming.”

“How long were you peeping in at me, you perv?” I said.

Cody cackled in the backseat. “Perv!” he repeated.

“Don't change the subject,” Phil said.

I sighed. I usually liked how straightforward he was, but every once in a while, it was a pain in the ass.

“Yeah,” I said. “I was dreaming.”

“What'd you dream?” Cody asked.

“I dreamed about Sherri,” I said.

“Oh,” said Phil and Cody in unison. They both knew she had been my best friend since forever and that she'd died at the end of the last school year.

“She looked like she did before she died,” I said, “but I knew she was still dead. We were at her place, drinking cheap cola. She told me that I wasn't done.”

“Done with what?” Cody asked. I knew from the sound of his voice that he was a little freaked out. Well, good, because so was I.

“That's what I asked her,” I said. “She said that something big was coming.” I paused and swallowed. My mouth was dry and my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. After a second I went on. “The funny thing is that I had a few dreams like that last year, before the big zombie attack out at Brandon's. The dreams stopped after that, so I thought that was the thing that was gonna happen. Tonight's the first time I had that kind of dream since last June.”

“What do you think it means?” Cody asked.

I shrugged.

“I think it's a dream,” Phil said. “You're stressed out about the new school year, and your mind is trying to sort some stuff out.”

“Thanks, Dr. Freud,” I said. His unwillingness to entertain that bigger forces might be at work annoyed me a little. What, like I wasn't fit to be a conduit for the supernatural? Well, he could suck it.

“I think it means something, Courtney,” Cody said.

“Thank you,” I said. At least someone believed me.

Phil didn't rise to the bait. He kept on driving in silence. After a while, I got tired of the silence, and I asked, “So, where are we going tonight?”

“Cody and I scoped out what might be a shuffler nest a couple of days ago,” he said.

This was something new we'd been seeing over the summer. Evidence that zombies were congregating out in the woods—discarded clothing, matted-down grass, half-eaten body parts. The nests were obviously a real party zone. Normally, the zeroes were solitary, unless they were swarming, but something new was at work and they'd started hanging out—having little undead coffee klatches, probably.

“We'll be there in a minute,” Phil said as he pulled onto Cordon Road. Cordon runs along the extreme east side of town. It was all farmland and trees out there. The perfect place to find some Z-heads.

After a bit, he pulled off to the side of the road and shut off the engine. He pointed to a copse of trees off in the distance. It was hard to see out there. It was just a dark clump against a slightly less dark backdrop.

“Let's do this,” Cody whispered. Excitement laced his voice. I felt it, too. Since I'd helped repel the zombie attack at Brandon's, I'd really developed a taste for hunting them. I'd started to crave the thrill of stalking the bastards. Even being in a tight spot, surrounded by shufflers and, as was happening more and more often, runners, I felt a tingle of excitement. Mostly because I knew my friends were with me and they'd get my back. Even though we'd been in some hairy situations, I never felt like I was in danger. I knew that Phil or Cody were there for me. I thought they felt the same way about me.

Phil switched off the car's dome light and we crept around to the trunk. Once that was opened, we picked out our weapons. Phil and Cody went with their usual favorites, baseball bats with nails pounded through them. I preferred a little number called—I shit you not—the Dead-On Annihilator Utility and Wrecking Bar. On one end, it had a hammer head and claw; on the other, it came to a nice sharp point. It was forged from a single piece of steel and weighed less than four pounds. Sure, it was only eighteen inches long, which meant I had to get in pretty close, but once I started swinging that baby, the undead started dropping. On sale at a hardware store near you for a mere $39.95.

We'd given up on guns because none of us was able to afford ammunition in the amounts we needed for these patrols. Besides, getting up close and personal with a zombie and splitting its head open felt more satisfying than shooting it from a distance.

I clenched my hand around the shaft, which I'd wrapped in friction tape, and hefted the wrecking bar.

“Let's go mess up some living-impaired humans,” I said. The giddiness of the hunt sometimes made me talk like a bad 1980s action hero.

Phil led the way to the outcropping of trees. We all crept along as silently as possible. Crickets chirped all around us and sometimes I heard the tall grass we walked through rustling in the wind. A sliver of moon hung in the sky and gave us enough light to see by. Just as we were about to enter the trees, Phil paused. We all hefted our weapons. He held up his hand and silently counted off.

One . . . two . . . three . . .

We burst into the trees, no longer interested in being quiet. I gave a war cry as we entered a small clearing in the middle of the trees.

And we came to a dead stop.

Zombies lay all around and they were dead. For-real dead this time. Someone had hacked them to pieces. There were so many body parts I wasn't able to tell how many shufflers had actually bought it. I tried to imagine who had done it, and what they'd used—meat cleaver? Machete? I stopped wondering because I figured it might be best not to know.

“Who the hell is ganking our kills?” Cody demanded. He looked down at the mess in utter disgust, but I guessed he wasn't upset at the carnage, he was cheesed off because it hadn't been him that had caused it. “I'm serious,” he went on, gesturing at the dead Zs. “These were ours.”

“It's not like we called dibs on them, Cody,” Phil said, ever the voice of irritating reason.

“The Gimp has a point,” I said, agreeing with Cody.

“Thank you,” Cody shouted.

“Who did this if it wasn't us?”

“Yeah,” Phil said. “It's a good question.” He kicked absently at an unattached arm, then he shrugged. “I have no clue. I think we should keep plugging away like we have been and see if our paths cross with our mystery hunter.”

“Or hunters,” Cody said. “What if it's a whole, like, elite group of zombie hunters and they want to recruit us?” His voice grew louder as he got more excited.

“I'm sure a group of elite Z hunters would love to have you on their team,” I said.

“You think so, Courtney?”

“You,” I said and smiled. “I'm sure they have a constant need for bait.”

“Har-har-har,” Cody said as he made the jerk-off motion with his free hand. “You're funny like cancer, Courtney.”

“Let's go,” Phil said. He turned and walked away without waiting for us to agree with him. Like, there was no way he thought we might argue with him.

“Man, this sucks!” Cody slumped away, his shoulders rounded and his head hanging down. He looked like Charlie Brown after a particularly awful baseball game. He even had a baseball bat, though it had nails sticking out of it and it was covered in black zombie gore.

“Cheer up,” I said to him. “Maybe we'll spot a shuffler on the way home and we can run it over with the car.”

“Do you think we might?” he asked, suddenly cheery again. “That'd be awesome!”