Eat, Brains, Love (18 page)

When he spoke again, his lips didn't move. His voice was inside my head.

Well done, my dear. Soon, you'll be strong enough for your promotion.

An image flickered across my mind's eye, unbidden and definitely uninvited. It was me, holding one end of a metal chain.

The other end was attached to a collar around the throat of a snarling Jake Stephens.

JAKE

THE ELECTRIC RAZOR BUZZED TO LIFE IN AMANDA'S hand. She waved it back and forth in front of my face menacingly.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

“Not really,” I replied, shaking my head.

“Come on,” groaned Amanda, tapping her foot impatiently. “We agreed.”

“We agreed on disguises. Couldn't I just get a floppy hat and some sunglasses?”

I was sitting on the edge of the bathtub. Amanda was standing at the mirror, her hair piled up underneath a shower cap. I could see smudges of black dye through the clear plastic.

When we woke up, we hit some stores in Ann Arbor. First, we stopped off at a drugstore, then went next door to one of those all-purpose preppy-tire-swing clothing boutiques to grab some college-student-style attire.

We'd even dipped into the money we'd picked up off of the trucker back at the gas station and used it to buy a cheap digital camera. For one thing, I wanted to memorialize my hair before I cut it all off. More important, though, we had used the camera to take a picture of ourselves, holding up a copy of a
USA Today
from a few days ago bearing the headline:
SCHOOL SHOOTERS IN CUSTODY
. Now we would be living proof that you can't believe everything you read.

That didn't make me any happier about shaving my head, though.

“Won't this make it easier for me to catch a cold?” I asked.

Amanda clicked off the razor, giving me a deadpan look. “You're a zombie worrying about the flu?”

“Okay,” I said, “what if my head is tiny and/or misshapen?”

Amanda cocked her head to the side, examining me. “Yeah, that might be an issue. You do have some weird angles going on here.”

“Whoa, whoa, really?”

“No. It's perfectly round, like a globe. I'm amazed you've kept such a beautiful head shape hidden from the world for so long. Stop being such a baby.”

Amanda had seemed almost giddy as she squeezed the black dye into her hair, like she was happy for the change. Me, I'd had my shaggy mop since the seventh grade, ever since my dad stopped insisting that I go to the barber with him. It'd been cut occasionally, but most of those were self-administered trims. My hair was a Jake Stephens trademark. It was like my business card, if my business was being a lazy stoner, which it actually was. My hair told the world everything it needed to know about me: that I was cool, that I didn't enjoy hard work, and that I wasn't a cop. My hair was perfect.

But, it had to go.

“Okay,” I said, steeling myself. “Do it.”

Amanda flicked on the electric razor and took my chin in her hand. “That's a good boy. I'll give you a lollipop after.”

“My barber used to give me comic books.”

“I bought a
Cosmo
at the drugstore. You can have that. Now hold still.”

After she was done, we stood side by side in the bathroom mirror and got used to our new looks. I ran my hand over the bristles on my scalp, my head feeling cold and about a pound lighter. Amanda had left a strip of hair in the middle of my head longer than the rest, a sort of Mohawk thing. I wasn't sure whether she'd done it on purpose because she thought it was cool or if she just really sucked at head shaving.

Meanwhile, she looked like an actress playing a punk-rock chick in some Hollywood movie about the dangers of rock and roll. She'd done a pretty good job with the dye but there were still strands and patches of blonde running through the inky black. I guess there's only so much you can do in a motel sink. She still looked like a superhot cheerleader, but now she was a cheerleader that'd had an emotional breakdown and spent some time in an institution.

“We look pretty badass,” Amanda said. “No one will recognize the new-and-improved Jake and Amanda.”

“These aren't the undead you're looking for,” I said, doing my best Obi-Wan hypnotizing hand wave.

Amanda stared at me blankly.

So, you could dye the popular girl's hair, but you couldn't make her understand
Star Wars
references. Good to know.

 

We got to the student union about an hour before we were supposed to meet Kyle and backed into a parking spot close to the exit, in case we had to leave in a hurry. Then, we found a bench with a clear view of the union entrance. We wanted to see Kyle when he got there and make sure those goons in the beige sedan weren't following too close. Until then, we were just a couple college kids chilling out between classes. I have to say, considering it was the first clandestine meeting of our young lives, I was pretty impressed with us.

“I hope he shows up,” I said.

“He'll show,” insisted Amanda.

She was watching the entrance to the student union like a hawk, so I felt free to do a little people-watching. The day was sunny and breezy, what a poetic weatherman might describe as balmy. Kids hustled from class to class or hung out on the nearby benches, laughing, sharing lunches. It was a good scene.

“I could get used to this,” I said, feeling weirdly content. “Maybe we should enroll in some classes.”

“Pretty sure you need a high school diploma for that.”

“Oh no,” I gasped. “Are we dropouts?”

“Shh,” she said. “There he is.”

I glanced over to the student union just in time to see Kyle speed-walking through the front doors.

“He looks a little freaked,” I observed.

“He has no idea what freaked is,” said Amanda. “Yet.”

We waited fifteen minutes for the beige sedan to come rolling through, but it never did. Maybe Kyle had shaken his tail or maybe they just didn't bother following him onto campus. Either way, it worked out for us.

That brief feeling of relaxation I had outside the student union? Gone as soon as we walked through the doors of the bustling, food-court-style campus hangout. It wasn't just that Amanda and I were taking a risk being out in public like this—it's that the student union reminded me of the RRHS cafeteria. So many people milling around, talking and studying, eating their tasty, cooked meals. My stomach was quiet for now, but I dreaded its rumbling.

As we walked around looking for Kyle, I unthinkingly grabbed Amanda's hand. What can I say? Not the most masculine thing to do, but I needed something to hold on to, to reassure me that we wouldn't have a repeat of Friday. Amanda looked over at me, a grateful smile on her face—she was nervous too.

“There,” whispered Amanda, nodding to a back table.

I finally got my first real look at Amanda's older brother. He was pretending to read a textbook while anxiously scanning the crowd. It looked like he hadn't slept in days, bags under his eyes, the patchy beginnings of a beard. Amanda had described him as a nerd, yet he still had that Blake aura about him, a sort of inherent confidence that seemed like it should be at odds with his oversize
MICHIGAN PARANORMAL SOCIETY
sweatshirt and threadbare corduroy pants, but somehow wasn't. Kyle was as blond as Amanda used to be, broad shouldered, like he could've been captain of the lacrosse team if he ever got tired of the whole slacker-geek thing. Instead, he decided to hide those amazing Blake genetics behind a pair of smudged glasses and a perpetual slouch.

As we approached, Kyle's eyes passed right over us, then snapped back in a wide-eyed double take. He leapt to his feet, chair clattering to the ground behind him. Amanda quickly wrapped him up in a hug.

“Holy shit,” Kyle said, way too loud.

“Stop,” whispered Amanda, trying to keep control but sounding choked up. “You need to be cool.”

I felt a brief twinge of envy for the Blake family reunion. I'd never had this thought before, but man, it sure would be nice to hug
my
sister. And my mom and dad. I had to put that out of my mind, though. We were here on a mission.

I stood Kyle's chair back up, looking around. We'd gotten a few glances from the crowd, but kids probably made scenes daily in the student union. No one was paying us much attention as Amanda made Kyle sit down.

“Oh my god, you're here,” Kyle said, his words coming fast, like he was about to have a panic attack. “I got the message and I thought it was like a really messed-up prank but now you're here and what the hell is going on?”

A small laugh escaped Amanda, her eyes brimming with tears. She squeezed Kyle's hand underneath the table. “I'm really, really glad to see you, Kyle.”

“Yeah,” he said, still talking really fast, “yeah, me too, but also—
how
are you here? All Mom has been saying is that the cops won't let her talk to you, and they said you shot all those kids, and now—”

“We didn't shoot anyone,” I interrupted. “They're lying.”

Kyle stared at me, like he was noticing me for the first time. He studied me for a moment, then pointed.

“Second shooter,” he declared. “Jake Stephens.”

“Uh, yeah. Hi.”

Kyle looked past us, searching the faces in the student union.

“Is Chazz here too?” he asked.

“Why would he be?” asked Amanda, keeping her voice neutral.

“The news said he was in on it,” said Kyle. “Your shooting. That he'd lost his nerve at the school but had already killed his parents beforehand.”

Amanda and I exchanged an uncomfortable look.

“No Chazz,” said Amanda. “That's done.”

“They're lying about him too,” I volunteered. “Well, sort of. He probably did kill his parents. It just has nothing to do with us. Also he was sort of a dick, so meh.”

Both Blakes were staring at me. So, brother and sister could share the same please-shut-up look.

“Chazz was a dick,” agreed Kyle. “What the hell is happening, Amanda? Did you escape? Are the cops after you?”

Kyle started looking around again and this time I did too. I was pretty sure we'd gotten in unnoticed, yet I still felt exposed. I wanted to make sure those guys in the beige sedan—or really, anyone that looked the slightest bit like a gun-toting government agent—weren't closing in.

“No,” said Amanda, cool as a cucumber. “The
cops
aren't looking for us because they think we're caught.”

“But the dudes that set up this whole conspiracy cover-up thing?” I added. “Pretty sure they're still looking for us.”

Kyle frowned at Amanda. “What's he saying?”

“You're literally not going to believe it,” sighed Amanda.

I was about to point out that her brother was wearing a sweatshirt that announced his membership as one of the local ghost hunters so he should probably have an open mind, but then Amanda just launched right into our tale in her typical no-nonsense way. She started with the stomach growling, then segued into the massacre in the cafeteria, actually doing a really good job of avoiding words like
massacre
and generally glossing over the real gory details.

When she was finished, Kyle glanced between the two of us.

“Bullshit,” he said.

Amanda tossed up her hands. “You believe everything those creeps on the radio and the internet dorks say, but not your own sister?”

“I believe you. I guess. And I don't believe
everything
. Look, I'm a skeptic realist, okay? I never actually believed that crap about Aunt Ellie getting eaten. I'm sure she's fine.”

“Forget Aunt Ellie. This is a little more important, don't you think? We're zombies,” insisted Amanda. “Seriously.”

“You don't look like zombies,” Kyle said. “You look fine. Weird hair, but fine.”

“We've been eating rats,” I offered.

“Uh-huh,” said Kyle, and leaned toward Amanda. “Look, I don't know what kind of trouble you're actually in and you don't have to tell me. But we can work it out. I'm just glad you're safe.”

“We're not safe,” Amanda blurted, getting annoyed. “They're hunting us.”

“The government?” Kyle asked skeptically. “The men in black?”

“The same guys that have been watching your house, dude,” I put in.

“Wait. There are guys watching my house?”

Amanda rolled her eyes. “Duh. For a conspiracy freak, you'd think you'd pay a little more attention to that type of thing.”

“Uh. You don't think they're monitoring my, um,
internet
activity
too, do you?” He shot me a nervous glance.

“Look. Kyle. I think the government has more important things to worry about than your porn surfing, okay? I just need you to believe me. We're heading to Iowa,” announced Amanda. “But we need your help before we go.”

“Iowa?” asked Kyle, pushing a hand through his hair, mega-stressed. “Why would—? No, whatever, that's ridiculous. We're going to call Mom and a lawyer and”—he looked at me—“your parents too, I guess, and we're going to straighten this out.”

Amanda slapped the disposable camera onto the table, frustrated.

“There are pictures on this that prove we're not arrested, which proves the whole cover story is crap,” said Amanda. “Put them up on your message boards, send them to a newspaper, something. Just help us, Kyle.”

“This isn't just happening to us,” I added, thinking of Grace and Summer. “There's something big going on here. Bigger than a bunch of paranoid conspiracy nuts are going to be able to fix. We need to get this out there.”

Kyle picked up the camera, turning it over in his hands.

“And I need my family to know that I'm not a murderer,” I added, feeling my voice catch in my throat. Amanda looked over at me sympathetically.

Kyle was barely paying attention anymore. He hadn't really needed to be convinced. “This is really happening,” he breathed to himself.

“Yeah,” said Amanda.

Kyle looked up at his sister, his eyes big with fear. Not for himself, I realized, but for her.

“I'm supposed to just sit here while you run off to Iowa for some crazy secret reason with Weirdo-Mohawk here.” He glanced at me. “No offense.”