Zombified (4 page)

“Sure,” I said. “Anything is possible.”

We all climbed into the car and Phil got us headed toward home.

“Sorry this didn't work out,” he said.

I shrugged and didn't say anything right away. I stared out my window at the hills off in the distance and the moon in the sky. All of this maudlin, self-pitying bullshit ran through my head. Thoughts about how nothing worked out for me lately, so why even try?
Et cetera
. It felt exhausting to be so negative all the time. Maybe it made those around me tired, too. Tired of me.

“Thanks for trying, at least,” I said. “I appreciate the effort.”

“You're welcome,” Phil said. “And it doesn't feel like it's an effort.”

“Okay,” I said.

I went back to looking out the window, but the landscape didn't look quite so bleak anymore.

“Hey,” Cody piped up from the backseat. “What'd you mean by calling me a gimp?”

CHAPTER FOUR

I
slouched through the next few days at school in a haze. I decided to keep my head down and keep to myself as much as possible.

As I lay low, I spent a good portion of each day looking for Brandon. I was surprised he wasn't in Journalism class. I didn't want to ask anyone if they'd seen him, mostly because I didn't want to start up the rumor mill, but I had to admit that I was curious about him and how he'd been over the summer.

Trying to remain inconspicuous seemed to work. People started to leave me alone, or to ignore me, which was just as good, if you ask me. But as people began to get out of my face, a funny thing happened—I started to notice
them
more.

As I wandered the halls, I began to really look at my classmates. I mean, sure, I looked at them every day, but I felt like I never really saw them. Now that their ire at me seemed to ebb away, I began to notice them. I was kind of shaken by what I saw. A lot of the kids I considered part of the ruling oligarchy looked different than I remembered them. Sort of gaunt, drawn out. Sunken cheeks; hollow, darkened eye sockets. What was going on here? These were the beautiful people, both figuratively and literally. Now they seemed to be wasting away. It was like
The Picture of Dorian Gray
in reverse. Looking at them kept reminding me of something or someone, but I couldn't quite place it. It was goddamned frustrating. I tried not to think about it, hoping the answer might just come to me, but I couldn't
not
think about it. Like when you burn the roof of your mouth and that skin hangs down? If you'd just leave it alone, it would heal, but of course you can't.

In class and out, I studied all of my classmates. I thought that maybe everyone looked slightly uglier than I was used to, but no, it was just the upper crust. All of those in my hierarchical strata and below looked the same as always—which is to say ugly, but no uglier than usual.

One day as Phil drove Cody and me home, I decided to bring up my new finding. Like any good scientist, I wanted to test my theory by subjecting it to peer review.

“Are the jocks looking raggedy-assed to you lately?” I asked.

“All the jocks?” Phil asked. “Like as a collective?”

“Define ugly,” Cody said from the backseat. “Because I have to admit that I'd still do about ninety percent of them.”

“Cody,” I said, “shut up. Phil, no, I guess not all of them. But enough that it's noticeable.”

“Okay,” said Phil. “Now I'm going to do something unexpected and repeat what Cody asked, ‘Define ugly.' ”

“Okay,” I said, “not ugly. Not like, you know . . .” I hooked my thumb over my shoulder at our compatriot in the backseat. “Just sort of, not as good-looking.”

“I have not noticed a significant drop in our classmates' attractiveness,” Phil said. He said it in all seriousness, which made me think he was making fun of me. Then I told myself that Phil had joked around with me, but he'd never outright made fun of me. I squelched any bubbling anger I'd felt coming on.

“Well, please keep an eye out for any upticks in cases of butt-face, okay?”

“Done.”

“New topic,” Cody announced from the backseat.

Phil checked him out in the rearview mirror. “What's that?” he asked.

“This is for Courtney,” he said. I turned around in my seat and I didn't like the grin I saw once I got all the way around.

“What?” I asked.

He continued to grin without answering me.

I knew he was trying to be funny, but I felt my anger growing again. I wanted to force-choke him like Darth Vader.

“If you don't want me to slap that stupid-ass grin off your face,” I said, “you'll tell me what's up.”

A boo-boo lip replaced the grin and I was fine with that.

“Why do you have to be so mean?” Cody asked.

“You haven't seen me mean, jack-off,” I said. “What?”

“Someone asked about you today,” he said.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a second. Of course. More of this bullshit.

“Who was it?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.

“A guy in my American History class,” he said.

That got Phil's attention. “A guy?” he asked into the rearview.

“Yeah,” Cody said and nodded.

“What'd he look like?” I asked. Again, I knew the answer.

Cody looked weirdly uncomfortable. He kind of squirmed in his seat. He looked like he was holding in a fart.

“He's, you know, tall,” Cody said. “And sort of . . .”

“Good-looking,” I said.

“Have you met him?” Cody asked.

“No,” I said, “but I've heard about him. What's his name again?”

“Warren,” Cody said.

I turned and sat back in my seat.

“Warren,” I said. “Right. How did I forget.”

“What's this guy's story?” Phil asked.

“I honestly have no idea,” I said. I tried to discern any signs of jealousy in Phil's posture, expression, or voice, but didn't find any. Call me crazy, but I sort of hoped to find some there.

“Huh,” was his only reply.

We drove on for a little while in silence.

“I have something that might make you feel better,” Phil said out of the blue.

“What makes you think I don't feel great?” I asked. Then I realized I was sitting there staring out the window with my arms folded across my chest, my teeth gritted. I had probably been cursing under my breath and not noticed it.

“Fine,” I said, “what is it?”

“Let's go out tonight,” he said. “Hunt up some of the undead.”

I hated when he used that word, “undead,” but I was willing to let it go this time.

“Where?” I felt a grin spread across my face.

“No idea,” he said. “That's why it's a hunt. Can you get out tonight?”

“Probably,” I said. “Tomorrow's Saturday, which means my dad doesn't have to work, so he might stay up later than usual.”

“Well,” Phil said, “we'll see if we can make it work.”

“Yeah,” Cody said, “but remember that we want to get there before our mystery slayer.”

That was a good point, not that I was going to tell him that.

“I'll do what I can,” I said. “It might just mean that we go out later than usual.”

“Whenever,” Phil said. “Any time is the right time for a monster hunt.”

That struck me funny—probably funnier than he meant. “If we ever get corporate sponsorship, that can be on our T-shirts.”

“Zombie Squad,” said Cody, doing his best impersonation of a sports announcer, “brought to you by Axe body spray.”

“The only thing that smells worse than undead,” I said, making my voice as deep as possible.

“Hey!” Cody sounded hurt. “I wear Axe.”

“That's the point, dumb-ass.”

We went on like that for a while, exchanging little bon mots until we reached my house. But I did it on autopilot. I was already trying to think of ways to get my dad to go to bed early.

 

Turns out that I didn't need to plan it. Which was good, because I came up with zero things that might actually work. As we sat and ate dinner, Dad said, “I'm going down to Eugene tomorrow to a small conference. Gil was supposed to go, but he got sick. Want to come?”

Eugene is a town about an hour south of us, and it's even smaller and has less to do than Salem. Also, it's full of hippies. I tried to imagine myself hanging out there for the day, eating organic tofu and getting a contact high from people's body odor. It took me less than a second to decline the invitation.

“Well, if you change your mind,” Dad said, “I'll be leaving about seven.”

“That's pretty early,” I said, trying my best to sound completely innocent.

“Yeah, I'm going to hit the hay pretty quick after we clean up the kitchen,” Dad said.

“I'll clean it up,” I said. Dad gave me a suspicious look. Had I overplayed my hand in my excitement? I sat back and tried to play it cool. “So you can have some free time before you go to bed. Since I'm not going, I can stay up a little late.”

“Sure,” Dad said. He looked like he was trying to believe me. “I'd appreciate that. I did want to review some stuff before heading down.” One last piercing glance, then, “Thanks, sweetie.”

So I made like Snow White, minus the helpful woodland creatures, and cleaned the kitchen by myself. By the time I was done, I heard my dad snoring in his room—on the other side of the house. It was like living in a house with a nuclear test range, I swear to God.

I texted Phil that we were a go for festivities, and then while I waited for him, I got dressed for a night out on the town.

 

We'd been on the road for about half an hour when I asked, “Where are we going?” We'd headed south, out past the freeway entrance and the end of anything that might be called civilization. Out that far, the strip malls had disappeared and were replaced by run-down houses and overgrown yards.

“It was Cody's idea,” Phil said and hooked a thumb toward the backseat. Cody was asleep, sprawled across the bench. His mouth hung open and a thin line of drool fell out of his mouth and onto his jacket. I wrinkled my nose. He looked like the world's biggest, ugliest baby.

“What idea of his might possibly get us to drive all the way out here?”

“Remember that little nest of zappers we took out a few weeks ago out this way?” Phil asked. I looked around. Okay, all of this did look vaguely familiar. I made a noncommittal sound. “He thought that maybe zombies gather at spots where they've congregated in the past,” Phil said. “That maybe they'd be attracted to the smell of carnage.”

“What made him think that?”

“I hesitate to speculate how Cody's mind works,” Phil said. “But it seems like it paid off this time.” He slowed and turned off the main road. I heard gravel popping beneath the tires. If I remembered this place correctly, there'd be a huge oak tree coming up on our left. Sure enough, it came into view.

“Sometimes Cody skips school and goes scouting for our hunting trips.” I wondered what that did for his GPA, and got shudders. Seeing a failing grade on my report card would give me the heebie-jeebies way worse than any zombie ever did. “Long story short, he found some zombies on his last little reconnaissance mission.”

“Huh,” I said, sort of impressed despite myself. “Cody was right about something. Will wonders never cease?”

Phil killed the headlights and drove by the light of a half moon. We were in the middle of a field of tall grass, so there wasn't really a lot of maneuvering to do.

“Cody's smarter than you give him credit for,” Phil said. He stopped the car and set the parking brake.

I didn't have an answer for that. I didn't really think he was necessarily
dumb
; it was just that he made some interesting choices. Choices I wouldn't have made. As important as I felt hunting zombies was, there was no way in hell I'd skip school to do it.

Phil climbed out of the car and I followed suit. I raised my arms above my head, stretching. My spine did its impression of a certain breakfast cereal.

My phone buzzed in my pocket and my heart stopped. I wrenched it out, expecting to see a message from my dad asking where I was, why I was such a terrible daughter, and wondering if he'd be able to sell me to an organ donation center. Instead there was a message from a number I didn't recognize.

I stared at the screen for a few seconds. Who would send me this text? Whom had I been asking about . . . ? Then it hit me. Brandon. My ex-boyfriend-even-though-we-only-went-on-one-date. Oh, man. I'd deleted his number from my contacts; that was why I hadn't recognized who it was from.

“Who is it?” Phil asked. “Your dad?”

“No,” I said. “It's just a notification from Facebook.” I attempted a smile.

“Okay,” Phil said. He looked in the window at Cody sleeping in the backseat. “He's so adorable,” he said. “I hate to wake him.” With that, he pounded his balled fist against the glass and screamed, “Get up!”

Cody bolted upright, eyes wide and screaming curses. It was pretty funny, but I was in no mood to laugh.

“How about taking it down a few decibels?” I asked.

“They're, like, a long way off,” Phil said. “I think we're fine.”

“Never do that again, you dick!” Cody screamed as he got out of the car. “I can't be held responsible for my actions next time.” His eyes bugged out of his head. Even in the moonlight, I saw his face was bright red and spittle flew out of his mouth. All of this struck me as intensely hilarious just then despite the certainty that my life was about to become complicated to an obnoxious degree. I cackled like an idiot.

Cody fixed me with a glare that made me glad looks truly couldn't kill.

“Did you put him up to that?” he asked me.

“He came up with it all on his own,” I gasped between ragged peals of laughter.

Cody crossed his arms against his chest and gave us the evil eye one more time before walking off mumbling threats about payback.

When my laughter had finally subsided into giggles, Phil walked over and stood next to me.

“He's never managed to pull off a gag,” he said, “but there's always a first time. You ready?”