Zombified (15 page)

“What the hell is that?” yelled a very human voice. The one who hadn't spoken started backpedaling away from us and then tripped and fell on his ass.

We pulled up short, and the four of us stood face-to-face with two dudes who were definitely not zombies. I didn't think so, anyway. Both of them looked like they were well on their way to being undead even if they still had pulses. Sunken eyes; broken-out skin; dirty, stringy hair; clothes that hadn't seen soap in a while? Check, check, check, and check. It was like looking at Brandon in the last days when he was alive. So, yeah, they were junkies.

“What are you guys doing?” asked the one on the ground. He was scratching his cheek. Like, really digging at it. I thought he was going to draw blood any second.

“Sorry, guys,” I said. “We thought you were someone else.” Phil and Cody shot me a look and I shrugged. Sorry that I wasn't the master of improvisation.

“Courtney?” The guy who was still standing squinted at me. “Courtney, right?”

“Yes . . .” I said, dubious. How'd this guy know my name?

“You're that chick that Brandon Ikaros was doing last year, aren't you?” he asked. Like that was a completely reasonable and not-at-all rude thing to say to someone.

Also, it garnered more looks from the boys. Even Phil looked to see how I'd react.

The dude who'd fallen down, call him Scratchy, pushed himself up and dusted off his butt. Then he went right back to scratching at his cheek.

“She knows Brandon?” he asked.

“Yeah,” the first one said. “Remember her from the party at the cabin?”

Scratchy stared at me hard.

I tried desperately to make this make sense. These guys had been jocks. They'd been friends of Brandon's. He'd gone and got them hooked on Vitamin Z, and now that they were jonesing, he wasn't around to sell to them anymore.

“I don't remember you,” I said.

“Gary,” the first guy said. “Gary Howard.” He pointed to Scratchy. “Bryce McNair.”

“And you guys are looking for Brandon,” I said.

“Yeah,” Gary said. “He's been crashing here, but he's not around now. We were trying to think of where to look for him next. You don't know where he is, do you?” He started to sort of hop from foot to foot, like he had to pee.

“I don't think Brandon's coming back here,” I said.

Gary's face sort of collapsed, like I'd just told him his puppy had died. I noticed that Scratchy—Bryce—was staring at me.

“Brandon told me you used to, uh, sell Vitamin Z,” he said.

Oh, brother.

“I don't do that anymore. Sorry.”

I started to back away. “I think we should be going,” I said to the boys. They joined me in my strategic withdrawal.

“Sorry to bother you two,” I said. “Uh, good luck in your . . . Yeah.”

“Why don't you think Brandon will be back here?” Bryce asked. His face scratching had become even more furious. I really needed not to see that anymore.

They both continued to yell after us once we'd turned and walked away. I felt sick to my stomach. It turned out Carol and Brandi had been right about the Case of the Missing Seniors. Fantastic. I wondered how long it'd be before Buddha found a new dealer for the Salem area. How long before those two and all the people like them took a little too much Z and joined the population of the differently-living.

We got back in the car, which Warren started so he could crank the heat, and we just sat in silence for a while. We let the events of the last few minutes sink in.

“So,” Warren said, “beer?”

“Oh, God, yes,” I said.

“Not for me,” Phil said.

Cody shot Phil a look and then said, “Yeah, not for me, either.”

“You can drink beer if you want to, Cody,” Phil said. “You don't have to hold back just because of me.”

“Such ego,” Cody said. “No, it's just that I have to be up early to help my dad tomorrow. If he figures out I have a hangover, he'll never let me live it down.”

“Why don't you guys still come hang out with us,” I said.

Cody shook his head. “Like I said, Cody get up early. Him go to sleep now.”

I looked at Phil. I was willing him to say he'd come over.

“I need to get to bed, too,” he said.

“So it's just you and me,” Warren said.

I stared out the window for a second. Anger flared to life inside my chest. Why the hell couldn't Phil just come hang out with us? I know from personal experience that I was highly entertaining when I'd been drinking. That finding was based on a survey of other people who'd also been drinking, but still . . .

“Yeah,” I said to Warren, “I guess it's just us.”

Cody shot Phil a look from the front seat, but Phil seemed not to see it, seemed not even to hear my answer.

“I guess you'd better take me and Cody home,” he said finally.

And all of a sudden I wanted to cry again. I couldn't believe that Phil cared so little about me that he wasn't going to come with us, or, at the very least, ask me not to do this. I understood trying not to feel jealous, but dammit, why wasn't he at least a little jealous! I was about to go off drinking with a really gorgeous boy, and Phil should be mad and want to stop it.

Fine. Screw it, I thought. If he doesn't care, then I don't care. We'll just go and have fun, and he'll regret not coming with us.

All of these thoughts sloshed around in my mind like a tidal wave of toxic sludge as we drove first Cody, then Phil home. When we got to Phil's house, I climbed out of the car at the same time he did.

“What are you doing?” he asked. There was something in his eyes, and in his voice, when he asked that, like maybe he hoped I was going to come in with him instead of run off with Warren. But I was still feeling angry. And petty.

“I'm just getting in the front seat,” I said.

He stood there blinking slowly, not saying anything. After a second, I climbed in next to Warren.

“See you later, man,” Warren said through a crack in the window. He drove away.

I didn't say good-bye.

What I did was pout while Warren drove to my place. I was angry in that way you can only be angry when you know you're wrong. One way to think about this was that Phil let me go because he didn't care about me, but he'd told me he cared for me just a few nights ago. So maybe he let me go because I was a big girl and he trusted me to make responsible decisions.

“How stupid can you get?” I said to the passenger side window, my breath making a foggy patch on the glass.

“Come again?” Warren said.

“Nothing,” I said. “Just talking to myself.”

“Okay,” he said.

We drove without talking after that. Warren played something nice on the stereo, but it was too low for me to really catch it. I looked out at the passing houses and I felt bad about going into that crappy neighborhood earlier looking for zombies. I wasn't sure why that made me feel guilty exactly. Maybe
everything
was making me feel guilty. Maybe guilt was my superpower.

We got to my place and Warren parked in front and turned off the car. I didn't make any move to get out of the car.

“Are we gonna go in?” he asked. “It'll start getting cold soon.”

“I don't know,” I said. I looked at my little house. I'd let Brandon in a few nights ago and that had ended in a bad way. Then I'd let Phil in and it had ended up pretty good. What might happen if I let Warren in?

“Is this because of Phil?” Warren asked.

“What's that mean?”

“I'm not dumb, Courtney,” he said. “I can see there's something going on between the two of you. God, I hope you two don't think you were hiding it.”

“We weren't hiding it,” I said, “but I didn't think we were broadcasting it, either.”

“Well,” he said, “I'm sure Cody has no idea there's anything going on.”

I put my head in my hands. “Oh, God, is that the bar we've cleared? Amazing. I bet those two junkies we saw earlier tonight are talking about how Phil and I have something going on.”

“I don't know why you're upset,” Warren said. “I think it's cool that you two like each other too much to hide it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Phil's a cool guy. A little intense, but cool.”

I let that sink in. Phil
was
a cool guy.

“How serious are you two?” Warren asked.

“How do you mean?”

“Is it a complicated question?”

“Sort of,” I said. I suddenly felt too close to Warren, too confined inside the car. I wanted distance from him. Physical distance. If it hadn't been freezing outside, I'd have climbed out of the car. There was no way we were going in the house now, so the car it was.

“Sort of,” Warren repeated. “Well, how physical have you two gotten?”

“Jesus, what is this, a locker room?” I asked.

Warren laughed. “I don't want details,” he said. “I'm just trying to establish what we're talking about here.”

He leaned in a little closer to me, and I retreated, but I only got so far because of the car door.

“I know you two have been an item since the summer,” Warren said. His voice was pitched low like we were telling secrets and it wasn't just the two of us. “Have you had sex?”

I was so glad we were sitting in the dark because I felt my cheeks grow hot. No way did I want him to see me blushing.

“No, huh?” he asked. “Well, tell me this: Have you two at least kissed?”

“We have,” I said, and I hated how small and timid my voice came out. “Twice now.”

“Twice?” Warren said, incredulous. He leaned forward again, and there was nowhere for me to get away. He reached out his hand and touched my chin very softly. “Courtney, if I was your boyfriend, there's no way I'd be able to keep from kissing you.” Then he leaned forward some more and all of a sudden we were kissing.

Okay. I realize that was lame. It was also using the passive voice, which four years' worth of English teachers had taught me to avoid, but it was also accurate. I knew that I was responsible for the kiss, but I felt powerless to control it. It was a force of nature, a tornado, and I was a double-wide trailer home.

There was no tentativeness in Warren's kiss like there had been with Phil. His mouth was right there, right on mine, and then, a second later, his tongue parted my lips and started dancing around inside my mouth. I just sort of melted into it. It just felt so good, so comforting, to know that I was desirable, and to have the proof on display like this. To have this gorgeous boy think that I was worthy of this kind of attention. It all just made me lose my mind for a few minutes.

Why had I wanted to get away from him? Now I just wanted to be close. I cursed the gear shift and brake lever. I wrapped one arm around his neck and snaked the other around his body. Warren responded by wrapping one arm around me, his hand on my back. The other hand went to my breast. He started to squeeze and knead it. It was too rough, almost painful, and I was about to tell him to stop when he moved his hand. Thank God. I went back to enjoying the feel of his lips and tongue.

And then his free hand was in the front of my pants, and a million warning buzzers went off in my head.

I got both hands on his shoulders and pushed, but he barely moved.

“Stop it, Warren,” I said.

He tried to pull me to him again with the one arm.

“No,” I said, and I shoved again, this time getting him off me. “Stop it,” I said.

“What the hell, Courtney?” he asked. His voice was somewhere between bewildered and angry.

“Just stop,” I said. “Which means get your hand out of my pants!”

“Oh, c'mon,” he said. “I thought you wanted to do this.” At least he did as I asked and moved his hand.

“I thought you were just talking about what a great guy Phil is?” I said.

“Don't throw that at me,” he said from his side of the car. “I'm not the one going out with him.”

“But you're supposed to be his friend,” I said.

“I don't care how good a friend he is,” Warren said. “Not when you're throwing off signals like you were.”

“Now it's my fault,” I said.

“You wanted it,” he said. “You can't deny it.”

“Well, now I don't.”

“Just like that?” he asked.

“Just like that,” I said.

I tried to open the door, but it was locked. “Oh, Jesus, I cannot believe I did this. Phil's never going to forgive me.” I tried the door again. “Will you please unlock the car?”

“What if I don't?” Warren asked.

“What?” I asked.

“You heard me.”

“Perfect,” I said. “Just perfect.” I faced him. “If you're thinking about forcing me to do something I don't want to do, it would be a huge mistake.”

“I don't believe that you don't want it,” he said. Shit. He was angry. How had I ever let myself get in a situation like this? My whole life I'd been taught to avoid situations exactly like this. Well, I'd been trained in other things my whole life, too.

As fast as I was able, I drew my pistol and shoved the barrel into his crotch. Hard.

“I think this might tell you how much I disagree with you,” I said. It was so satisfying to see his eyes go wide, to see his mouth form this little
O
of terror. I gave the barrel another shove just to emphasize my point.