Return of the Jed (13 page)

“That’s not even my good side.”

“Luke, you don’t have a good side.”

“I know, right?”

The photo Marisa had pulled from her back pocket was black, white, and blurry, a classic shot from a surveillance camera. But that was definitely Luke and me, taken outside the iron door protecting the keys.

I handed it back to Marisa. “Where did you get this?”

“Where I get all my counter-intel,” she said. “From my dad. Only this time I didn’t steal it. He gave it to me. Asked if I knew the two guys in the photo.”

“How did you guys escape photo radar?”

“I was on the lookout for surveillance cameras,” Marisa said. “That’s right out of Breaking and Entering 101, rookie. I didn’t see any, but it’s clear there was at least one.”

“So what did you tell him?” Luke asked in a voice full of sincerity and not a drop of concern.

“I said these were the guys Ryan and I met after committing a felony break-in at a federal facility.”

“Do you think that was smart? Maybe you could have lied or something.”

“You make innocence look so cute,” Marisa told Luke, escalating the flirtation level.

I was scared to life, my heart racing at four, maybe even five beats a minute. I could picture a convoy of
federales
pulling up any second, leveling AK-whatever rifles and ordering our hands in the air, which I’d do so quickly my hands would fly off my wrists, and the cops would open fire before the errant body parts hit the ground, even though I did put my hands in the air, so to speak.

“So what did you really tell him?” I asked Marisa.

“That I’d never seen these guys in my life,” she said. “Then I added some smartass thing that just because I was thirteen didn’t mean I knew everyone around here, which is what adults assume. That earned me ten minutes in the time-out chair.”

“You still have a time-out chair?” Luke said. “Sweet. I get my phone taken away for a week. I’d trade that for ten minutes in a chair.”

Ryan piped up. “I
own
that chair,” he said. “I’ve been in it so much, I’ve created a nice groove so it fits my butt even better.”

I could not believe I seemed to be the only one panicked by this photo.

“We really need to be worried about this,” Marisa said, joining my “concerned” team. That made it two to two, so we with common sense had a fighting chance.

“Where did your dad get it?” I said.

“All I can say is that he knows people who know people. He has a ton of connections.”

“When did he get it?”

“Had to be sometime this morning. Ryan and I had just snuck back into our rooms when he burst into mine to wake me up, having no idea I’d been up all night. He showed me the photo and asked me if I knew anything about it.”

“Why would he even think you’d know us?” I asked. “It makes no sense.”

“Exactly,” Marisa said. “Unless my dad knows way more than he’s letting on. And I’m pretty sure he does.”

That sank in too, all the way to my undead toes. “You think he knows who I am? What I am?”

“I don’t know for sure. But if I had to guess, I’d say yes.”

I glanced at Luke.

“Why would he care about Jed?” he said. “He’s pretty boring, especially for a zombie. No screaming for brains, no sinking his teeth into human flesh, not like the cool zombies in the movies. He can’t even turn other people into zombies. If it weren’t for the occasional limb coming off, he’d be useless.”

“Thanks, friend,” I said.

“No worries.”

Marisa leaned back, planting her hands behind her. “That’s just it. It isn’t who Jed is, it’s what he is. It’s not like the world is filled with zombies. How many do you know, Jed?”

“None,” I answered, though I often thought people who camped out for hours to see the latest science fiction film were sort of brain-dead.

“Right,” Marisa continued. “But my dad has an interest in …” Her voice trailed off.

“In what?” I pressed. “The undead? Because I can do without the attention. So far it’s only brought me trouble. People have thrown me into trash cans and stuffed me into lockers and whipped me with wet towels and framed me for smoking, which got me kicked out of school. Otherwise, being a zombie’s been a piece of cake.”

“Mmmm, cake,” Luke said. “Is it lunch yet?”

That reminded me. I looked at my phone. Ten forty-seven. Still time to try and figure this out.

“I get it,” Marisa said. “I understand more than you know.”

I doubted it. I’d spent my whole life trying to fit in, to be a part of the crowd. As soon as I learned I was not like the others, I switched my life to stealth mode. Bullies were able to penetrate my defenses with their geek-seeking missiles, but for the most part, I evaded detection. And came very close to fitting in. Most days, that’s all I wanted to do. Just be normal.

“Really, Marisa?” I said, surprised at the edge in my voice. “How so?”

“Just, I do, trust me.”

“I’m not sure I can. Or want to.”

“I’m the one who kept your dog, showed you the photo. I’m on your side, Jed. For a lot of reasons.”

“Name one.”

“You’re a nice guy. And you have a good friend who cares about you.”

“Hey, don’t drag me into this mushy stuff,” Luke said.

Marisa stretched and ran her fingers through her hair, then folded her arms across her chest. I could almost see brainwaves whizzing around her head as she thought. It was almost as if she were having an inner debate. I just hoped her brain was less difficult than mine.

“Jed, what if I told you …”

“Yes?”

“… that you were …”

“Uh huh.”

Marisa’s eyes grew three times their normal size as she leaped to her feet.

“… in huge trouble right now!” she finished.

“By the tone of your voice, I might believe you. Why?”

“Turn around.”

I did, and jumped to my feet as well.

Several cars approached, most of them with flashing lights.

Why weren’t their sirens blaring, like in the movies, which would have given us at least a few minutes’ head start? We really could have used the benefit of a classic Hollywood stereotype.

Then again, if I were the stereotypical zombie, I wouldn’t have had a chance of getting away, as I’d run toward the police, hoping for a mouthful of juicy law-enforcement brains.

“This is where we say goodbye, kids,” Marisa said, grabbing her brother’s hand and lifting him to his feet. “Ryan, move it.”

She pointed to a wall at the far end of the park. “There’s an alley back there, lots of hiding places. Stick to the back streets. I’ll text you later to see if you made it.”

Marisa and Ryan sprinted in the opposite direction before I could ask for advice that was slightly more useful than “Run that way and don’t get caught.”

So what could we do other than run that way and not get caught?

I snagged Tread’s leash as I heard car doors slam uncomfortably close. I risked a quick glance over my shoulder and was immediately sorry. Many people in dark uniforms were screaming at us, which didn’t bother me nearly as much as the rifles they carried.

I gathered my wits, at least the few my undead brain held. We could do this. The wall was maybe just a hundred feet away. I could cover that distance in a flash if I were at fast as Luke.

Luke?

My best friend had disappeared. I whirled around and caught sight of him just as he slipped behind the wall.

I took off, Tread in the lead, pumping my arms and hoping Luke’s repair from the night before would hold. I braced for the sound of gunshots, the buzz as bullets zipped past my ears. At least that was better than the thwack of metal embedding into flesh, which would happen if they were better shots than I anticipated (again, I was counting on Hollywood stereotypes where the good guys narrowly escaped).

As the wall approached, I did some quick math. It was about five feet tall, and even with a vertical leap that earned a “D” in PE, I would have no problem getting up and over.

Tread, however, was maybe a foot high at the shoulders, with a vertical leap of, hmm, I wasn’t sure. But I doubt it was enough to get him up and over. Maybe Luke was waiting on the other side—

Pfft!

The ground spit bits of dirt a few feet ahead, just inches from Tread’s back paw. Then another, just in front of him. Were they shooting, because I never heard the—

BLAM
!

OK, that confirmed it. They were definitely shooting. Weren’t Tread and I dead enough? Did they have to add bullet insult to zombie injury?

I zigged and zagged, hunching over to make myself smaller. Bet they didn’t think someone so brain-dead could be so smart.

We were twenty feet from the wall and closing quickly. Tread was yanking at the leash, and the duct tape on my right shoulder started to give.

I tripped. Of course.

My dog sprinted ahead, Tread giving no indication he knew my now-severed arm bounced in the dirt behind him. Tread leapt at the wall, his claws catching the top of it as his hind legs dug into the blocks, finding just enough purchase to push him over. My arm flipped out of sight.

I gladly would give my right arm to see Tread make it to safety. This time I really had.

If a zombie dog would make a leap of faith, so could I. Clambering to my feet, I sprinted onward. Ten feet, five, two, and jump.

My chin slammed into the wall several inches from the top as I’d once again overestimated my athleticism. I had, however, hooked my left arm over the top, but it was a futile effort. I couldn’t lift myself, and I felt the tape giving way.

I wasn’t sure what I was more disappointed in, my poor physical conditioning or my failing faith in duct tape.

Twisting awkwardly as I hung there like a piece of zombie art, I saw the cops closing in. Not only had they stopped firing, they’d stopped running. And started laughing.

“Don’t think it can get worse, don’t think it can get worse,” I muttered to myself, knowing that as soon as I thought things couldn’t get worse, they would. That was a Hollywood gag that always came true.

They were about fifty feet away and closing (very slowly) when one of them announced loud enough for me to hear, “I prefer my targets moving, at least they are a challenge.” Great, a cop
and
a comedian.

I thought of positive things, like maybe an asteroid would hit, extinguishing all life on Earth while providing a nice environment for the undead (population, a boy and his dog). Maybe just an earthquake, leveling this particular border town.

If a natural disaster did not happen soon, I was facing some time in Mexican prison. For what? I figured “Escaping While Undead” was enough. Racial profiling was unacceptable, but apparently zombie profiling was fine, if not encouraged.

In all that time I’d been urging Mother Nature to give a zombie a break, the officers had advanced another twenty feet. Either I was thinking really fast or they were walking very slowly.

Yes, it was the second one.

One of them stopped and reached for his handgun, flicking the safety strap. His buddies stopped, forming a semi-circle around him. I noticed several stripes on his shoulders. Must have been the commanding officer.

It was so quiet I could hear the metal slide against leather as he pulled the gun from the holster. The others also had their various firearms out, pointed at the ground.

The officer with the gun raised his index finger toward me and smiled.

“
Alto
,” he almost whispered. He spoke the next word softly, slowly, deliberately. “
Po-lee-see-ya
.”

Police, yeah, got it. As if I’d missed seeing the weapons and patrol cars.

I knew it was impossible, but I saw his finger tighten against the trigger. I braced, knowing I wouldn’t die, but I’d be in a world of hurt.

A strong pressure on my left shoulder, my legs scraping against the wall as I was pulled up and over. I hit the ground hard, and if there had been any air in my lungs, it would have been forced out with the hard landing.

A familiar face hovered over me.

Spike.

“
Hola, amigo
,” he said, putting a hand on each side of my ribcage and gingerly lifting me to my feet. “Looks like you’re in bigger trouble than a zebra at a crocodile pool party. Let’s say we
vamos
, eh?”

I wanted to ask about Luke and Tread, but Spike was right, at this point we needed to
vamos
. I heard shouts from the other side of the wall, and they were going to be able to climb it a lot easier than a one-armed zombie.

A street loomed ahead, a steady stream of cars crossing back and forth. Figuring that’s where we were headed, I put it into overdrive. Which was when Spike shoved me against a door, which swung open as soon as I hit it.

Tucking instinctively, I hit the floor, rolled, and pushed up with my left arm, returning quickly to my feet. Where the heck was that kind of move when I needed it?

The rectangle of light that was the doorway disappeared with a slam. The darkness vanished when lights flickered overhead. I gazed at a large room filled with tires, engines, and the scent of oil and grease. Cars came here to either die or be given a new life. In this situation, I hoped for the latter.