Resurrection (Eden Book 3) (13 page)

When the man worked up his nerve, he walked quickly up to George, glancing left and right, muttering to himself.

He passed the girl and her mother, who had been getting ready to leave.

“Mommy, where’s that man going?”

George made no move for the man. It did not see him as food. It did not understand what was in the man’s hand.

“Mommy, is that a—”

“Don’t look, Betsey!”

When Gary raised the hammer and cracked George in the skull, the zombie jerked its head back and looked at him. The man had hit George in the head with a hammer. George did not know why the man had done that. George did not know that the thing in the man’s hand was called a hammer. The man hit George in the head a second time, swinging the hammer wildly.

“Mommy!”

George turned and shuffled away from the man. It did not want to eat the man, and it did not want to get hit in the head again. Gary followed George, repeatedly hammering at the zombie. Some of his blows connected with George’s head, but most missed and landed on George’s stooped shoulders.

George moaned, passed its pole, and walked as far as the wire would allow it in the opposite direction. Gary followed George the whole way, bludgeoning it in the head.

“Help! Somebody help! He’s crazy!”

George went down. It landed on its chest and stomach and rolled itself over onto its back then sat up. The man hovered over it. He swung the hammer so frenziedly, he missed George and fell down himself. Before the man could get up and club George any further, three uniformed members of Public Security swooped in and gathered him up.

“Come on Betsey. Let’s get out of here…”

The man screamed at the three uniformed men and cried the whole time.

“Nazis! I hate these guys! I
fucking
hate these guys!”

The woman had her arm around her daughter’s shoulders, and she ushered her away.

“Nazis! Get off me! Nazis!”

The man who had come after George did not like to be touched.

“Take it easy there, pal…”

George did not know that the man did not like to be touched. George had no idea why the man had attacked it. George looked at the man and knew he was not food, but the three men carting the man away, they
were
. A small crowd of people had gathered around the scene to watch. George looked at them and thought it was surrounded by food.

The hammer was just lying there on the concrete. Its striking face was stained where it had hit George’s head.

The zombie stood up. It raised its arms, aiming the nubs at the ends of its wrists towards the nearest person as it stumbled after her. She was well outside the orange circle circumscribed around George’s area. The wire went taut around George’s neck, pulling the zombie up short. The food was so close, yet so far away.

This, if it had been capable of understanding irony, was the story of its undead life.

Though it was a dark and chilly autumn night, inside the dance hall was warm and packed with dancing bodies. The speakers blared out songs almost fifty years old. The crowd was largely young—mostly men and women in their late teens through mid-twenties—but there were pockets of those in their thirties and forties. The outfits ranged from leg warmers and sweaters over miniskirts to acid washed jeans, from stretchy pants to shirts and coats with more shirts over the coats. The layered look wasn’t meant to fend off the fall air outdoors. It was 80s night. Layered and messy chic were the order of the evening. Electric blue eye shadow and huge earrings were ubiquitous. Hair was poofed up, and there was no shortage of wigs.

Everyone was rocking down the electric avenue with Eddy Grant.

Evan was under the lights, amidst the press of bodies, dancing. An hour earlier he had gone up to one of the many bars, knocked back a gin, and popped down two E tabs from one of the bowls-full on the bar. He was feeling the MDMA now. The emotions washed over him. Evan normally didn’t like large crowds like this one, but tonight he felt alert, peaceful, and euphoric. He took comfort from the press of bodies.

Anthony and Riley appeared out of the crowd next to him. Anthony wore a light blue t-shirt under a faux-Armani jacket and white, linen pants over imitation Converse Chuck Taylors. Anthony still sported his beanie, which looked out of place, but made Evan happy because he had foregone his own. Riley, in Evan’s estimation, looked radiant in an 80s retro way. She wore a red jumpsuit with batwing sleeves. Cinched around her waist was an oversized, neon yellow patent-leather belt. Her eyes and cheeks were highly made up.

“Anthony! Rye!” Evan hugged both of them while he danced. Electricity coursed through his body as he did so.

“Ev!” Riley was happy to see her brother’s friend. Evan was decked out in mid-length Jams surfer shorts with a multi-colored Baja hoodie pullover. The pullover had a huge front center pocket and two thick open ropes on the neck. It was split up either side, and Evan had no shirt on underneath.

“Watch this!” Ev started popping and locking, snapping his knees, chest, shoulders and wrists in and forward, completely out of synch with the music.

“Whoa!” Anthony called out as Evan danced the tick. “He’s feeling no pain.”

“We’re all set for tomorrow, Anthony,” Evan said when he’d finished and was dancing in place once again. Gary Numan’s
Cars
blasted from the speakers. “I spoke to Diego’s cousin. He’s got access to a chopper tomorrow afternoon. He’ll let us off a couple hundred clicks into the Outlands.”

“It’s not going to be a problem?”

“Nah! Diego owes me one.”

“Awesome!” Anthony looked happy. This made Evan happier. “Now all we need to do is put together some packs and supplies.”

“Done.” Evan looked triumphant. He was dancing with his hands up over his head.

“Ev, you’re the best!” Riley called out. Evan’s moves and the sway of the crowd around them were infectious. Riley danced to the music too.

Troi came out of the mass clutching two cocktails. She wore an oversized cut-off top over stretch stirrup pants and laced granny boots that reached to her upper calves. The sleeves on her top were rolled up, and jelly bracelets covered her forearms. Troi’s face was heavy with eye shadow and blush. Long, dangly earrings hung from her ears. She had her hair pulled back into a side ponytail, secured with a banana clip. Troi handed one of the Purple Chongos to Riley. They clinked glasses and giggled when some of the gin-cranberry-grape-and orange juice spilled out onto the floor.

Anthony nursed his Cuba Libre. He hadn’t popped any E or whatever else was available at the bars. He wanted to keep a relatively clear mind, because he had a lot to think about.

The opening chords of the Fabulous Thunderbirds’
Tuff Enuff
made Evan hoot and holler.

Anthony looked up to one of the several flat screens on the walls. A muscular black man with a Mohawk, and what looked like a few kilograms of gold chains around his neck, picked another man up and threw him in slow motion.

Two Madonna-wannabes had sandwiched Evan. They pulled his hoodie back and ran their hands over his abs,
oohing
and
aahing
. Evan looked like he was in heaven.

“Hey, that’s our man!” Troi laughed as she and Riley stepped closer to Evan and the other two women moved back into the crowd. Anthony thought the smile on Evan’s face was a mile wide.

The Mohawked man on the screen and his friends were shooting everything up and blowing it all to hell, but no one seemed to be getting killed.

When The Human League’s
Don’t You Want Me
flooded over the house system, Evan turned his zonked-out attention completely to Riley. Some guy with a mullet wig and a pointy bustier tried to dance with her. Evan bodily interposed himself between the two of them.

“Thanks!” Riley yelled over the music and noise.

“Don’t mention it.”

They danced together, mouthing parts of the song at one another. Evan was flying high and wondered if Riley was feeling for him what he was feeling for her. When
Don’t You Want Me
faded into Animotion’s
Obsession
, Evan could have kissed the D.J.

Anthony was on his third rum and coke when he had to go to the bathroom. As he waited on the line outside the men’s room, a couple passing recognized him and stopped.

“Hey, teach!” It was Jermaine and Tricia from his class. It took Anthony a second to recognize them, because they were all—himself included—out of context, what with his two students

sporting 80s couture, and Anthony feeling the effects of the rum.

He greeted them both by name. Jermaine told Tricia to go on ahead, that he’d catch up to her.

“Hey professor, listen…” Anthony thought Jermaine looked remarkably well—not like a terminally-ill cancer patient.

“Call me Anthony, Jermaine.”

“I wanted to say thank you, Anthony.”

“Thank you for what?”

“You’re a great teacher, man…” Anthony was pretty sure Jermaine was on something, though he didn’t smell alcohol on his student’s breath. “…and you always expected the most from me. The same as you expected from anyone else. I appreciate that.”

“You’re welcome. You’re a bright guy, Maine. It’s an honor to have you in our class.”

“Thanks for that—Anthony.” Jermaine looked very happy. Anthony was glad for him. This was the kid who had said they were the dystopian future.

Anthony looked at him for a moment, wondering what he should say.
See you in class
? He didn’t think Jermaine would be back in class in six weeks. He didn’t think he’d see Jermaine again. If he did, he doubted the kid would be as rosy and vibrant as he was now.

“I gotta go.” Jermaine clasped his teacher on the shoulder, gave him a cadaverous smile, and walked away.

After he used the bathroom, Anthony went to the bar and got a fourth Cuba Libre. He stood against the wall, ignoring the people around him, and listened to the music. Could they be playing anything more melancholic, he wondered. The D.J. transitioned from Corey Hart wearing his sunglasses at night to Kim Carnes’
Bette Davis Eyes
to the Dream Academy’s
Life in a Northern Town
.

Anthony sipped his drink and watched the people around him dance.

“…as sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the Serengeti,” Toto were singing about
Africa
.

Anthony thought about Megan in his class. She was a pretty girl, a really smart girl. Anthony didn’t think he should be thinking about a student in his class the way he was thinking about her.

He looked at his watch. It was getting late. He needed to make up his mind.

“Hey, little brother!” Riley took Anthony’s elbow. “What are you, a wall flower?”

“I was just thinking.”

“Come and dance with us!” His sister started to pull him back into the crowd. Anthony saw his friends. Evan had his hoodie off and his torso was slick with sweat. Troi spotted Riley leading Anthony to them and raised her glass. Dexys Midnight Runners were telling Eileen to come on.

“Dance with us, Anthony!”

Red couldn’t sleep. This was nothing new. She couldn’t sleep most nights. When she thought about it, she realized the only times she could really sleep well were when she was outside the camp and on the hunt, chasing down some hapless soul or souls. It was odd, because everyone else on the hunt would be amped and up-up-up, much as Red would be during her waking hours. But at the end of a day of hunting, whether they’d caught their quarry or it had eluded them until the next dawn, Red always enjoyed a night of deep sleep, a slumber undisturbed by nightmares.

She had a cabin all her own, and burned the midnight oil tonight like most nights. Red hand washed the clothes she’d worn out in the forest the last few days, setting them to dry in front of the fire on a clothesline she strung across her cabin’s single room.

She set about sharpening and oiling her various blades: the matching push-daggers she liked to wear on the underside of either forearm; her karambit—the wicked little utility knife with the curved blade—that Thomas had given her, telling her it originated in Indonesia, another country that didn’t exist any longer; the double edged fifteen-inch weapon she didn’t know the name of; the Robbins of Dudley Trench push dagger with the five-inch blade and the steel knuckle guard; her many throwing daggers; and last, but not least, the throwing hatchet she favored.

When she was done she was still wide awake, so Red went outside. The camp was dark and still. Muted light showed around the cabins’ windows from fires that burned within. There were sentries out and about, Red knew, but she wouldn’t be able to see them from where she stood, and they wouldn’t make any noise.

Red stared up into the sky. It was a beautiful, clear, cold night, and the stars shone overhead. Presently, she became aware that someone else had come over and stood behind her.

“That’s Orion’s Belt up there.”

“Hello, Ed.”

“Hi, Red.” Gammon stepped forward to stand abreast of the young girl.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Oh yeah, sure it is. You know, some people used to look up to the skies for a reminder of just how insignificant we are.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve never felt that way looking up there. I’ve always felt…lucky, to be here and able to look up there.”

“That about sums up my take on it, too.”

“How do you think the stars feel looking down on us?”

“Can’t rightly say.”

They stood there without speaking, comfortable in each other’s presence, watching the sky and its pinpoints of light, until Gammon spoke of Thomas.

“The old man’s dying.” It wasn’t a question. “You know that.”

Red had suspected as much, but she would never have asked Thomas, or brought it up with anyone else.

“Does Tommy know?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Tommy isn’t as naïve as his daddy seems to think he is.”

“What about Johnny and Phil? Merv?”

“They have no idea.”

“It’s better that way.”

Gammon agreed.

“Ed, how much longer?”

“I don’t know.”