Broccoli & Broomsticks

by Jennifer Fischetto

  Turning my attention back to the shed, the growls become louder and stronger, and it dawns on me this isn’t Gio. He spoke clearly when he was in our garage. Unless something happened between then and now.

  I step one foot inside the shed and peek my head in. Except for a very thin veil of light bleeding in from a top corner and whatever light my body is now shielding, it’s almost pitch black in there. I stand still and listen to the growls and clanking while my eyes adjust.

  The clanking sounds like metal, like the chains Malik tied Gio up in. Has he done that again? Perhaps he cornered Zombie Sire.

  “Come on, Grandpa, eat it.”

  Oh my Goddess, it’s Malik’s voice. Grandpa?

  I step fully inside, allowing daylight to create a triangle along the shed floor.

  Everything comes into view fairly quickly, and I gasp when I see Malik standing over an older man bound in chains. Just like with Gio, they hold his wrists and ankles together to make movement more difficult, but unlike Gio, the chains are also threaded around a massive, heavy looking workbench.

  The thing I find most surprising, though, is what Malik’s holding out toward the man. A big head of broccoli.

  Chapter Eleven

  Malik runs his fingers through his thick curls. His attention is on the shed. He hasn’t looked me in the eye since we stepped outside a minute ago.

  “What’s going on?” I ask for the second time. I’m not sure if he heard me the first since he’d dropped the broccoli and was pushing me out of the shed when I spoke.

  “It’s not how it seems,” he says.

  I cock a brow and put a hand on my right hip. “So, you don’t have your zombie-infected grandfather chained up in this shed?”

  The only thing I’m not sure about is if this is his family’s property, but I’m assuming. Why lock him up in a stranger’s shed? Yes, that would be stupid, Aria.

  He finally glances my way, but it’s only for a second. “Oh, yeah.”

  “Do you plan on using more words, or do I need to interrogate you?” I’m up for either, but the second is more time consuming and I still don’t know where Gio is.

  Malik drops his hand from his head and softly sighs. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to share. Too darn bad. “My dad and I returned to Nocturne Falls because Grandpa was infected by a zombie. He called us and said something wasn’t right. I guess my father heard something in his tone because we raced here and found Grandpa tied up in the shed.”

  Okay, now that I didn’t expect.

  “He did it to himself?”

  Malik nods. “He must’ve known something was changing inside him.”

  “Has he been able to tell you anything, like how it happened?”

  His shoulders slump. “No. Not a word. Grunts.”

  This new info swirls in my mind until I give myself mental whiplash.

  ”Your grandfather is locked up in your shed, and you tried to kill Gio? How dare you think one life is more important than another.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  That’s it? “No, not good enough. Why does your grandfather deserve to live and Gio doesn’t?”

  “That’s not it.”

  “Then what is?”

  He sighs and at first I assume he’s pissed at me, which only makes my annoyance rise. But when he looks into my eyes and I see a defeated look, it hits me he’s mad at himself or the way he’s handled things.

  “I was scared. I kept thinking of the stories about my mom, and there was this zombie you were trying to save.”

  I start to defend my reasons, which are glaringly obvious, but he keeps on talking.

  “I wasn’t thinking clearly, just reacting.”

  That’s not an excuse.

  “I know now they’re totally different than previous zombies.”

  “Yeah, they’re vegan.”

  He frowns, and I explain what happened in the grocery store.

  “They’re still dangerous because they can accidentally infect someone with a scratch, but they aren’t trying to eat us. And you’re still a jerk.”

  He hangs his head again. “I know. I’m really sorry.”

  Well, since he admits it, I guess I can soften my ranting on him a bit.

  “How about we join forces now?” I ask. “No more working individually. We both want the same end game—zombie virus cured.”

  Okay, maybe that’s what I want and he wants to kill some of them, but technically we want the same things. My version has no violence, which also makes it the better plan.

  He holds out his hand. “Deal. You can trust me. I won’t try to kill Gio. If I find him, I’ll capture him and tie him back up in your garage. This time with heavy duty rope.”

  I smirk and place my palm against his. A tingly feeling starts in my toes and works its way up my body. “Deal.”

  An hour later, I’m home, showered, and helping with dinner, as if I didn’t spend the afternoon chasing my zombie brother through town. I still have no idea where he is. I’m hoping he hasn’t hurt anyone.

  I grab the bowl of vegetables, peeler, knife and flexible green cutting board and sit at the kitchen table. Salad is my dinner duty almost every night. Usually peeling cucumbers and chopping lettuce is boring, but tonight I barely notice. My thoughts bounce from my idiot brother to Malik's sad but gentle eyes.

  Okay, they’re mostly on the hunter.

  Traveling around, killing baddies must be hard on a kid. How old was he when he first killed one? Was he scared? There are many things I don’t know about this guy who infused himself into my life, like a wad of gum in your hair. Not that I totally mind. The guy. Gum in hair is a tragedy.

  “Damn,” Mom says and slams the cordless on the counter. Yes, we’re like the only family in the free world who still has a landline. Even though every one of us has a cell, my parents are concerned all seven cells will fail or batteries will die at the same precise moment, the electricity will go out, and we’ll need to call someone. Of course, if the apocalypse comes along, I doubt we’ll be thinking about socializing.

  Nana shuffles into the room. “Fighting with the cable company again?” She sits across from me at the table and rips a lettuce leaf. She nibbles on it like a mouse with a chunk of cheese.

  “Not this time. Gio's not answering his cell.”

  I stop mid-peel and glance to Nana. She keeps up her frantic nibbling.

  I didn’t check Gio's pockets after the cemetery last night, which means his phone is on him. Hopefully it’s off or the battery died. The last thing this house needs is Mom learning the truth about her son via a phone call. The landline wouldn’t stand a chance.

  The back door opens and my stomach drops, thinking it may be Gio. Cari steps inside and smiles. “Dad’s home.” Her goofy grin and the low pigtails make her look five. She tosses her book, What To Expect When You’re Expecting, onto the table. That image is immediately shattered.

  The front door opens on cue and I’m saved from having to answer, I mean lie, to Mom. If Professional Liar was an employment option, it would not only make Career Day at school a lot easier, but I’d be able to skip college and make a ton of money.

  Cari throws her arms around Dad when he walks into the kitchen. What’s with the child-like routine? I mean, I love Dad too, but I haven’t jumped and ran to him since I was little. Does pregnancy make women revert? If so, I’m never having kids.

  “Well, it’s good to see you too, sweetie.” He kisses her forehead then grins at me.

  I smile back and throw the veggies into the large wooden bowl.

  “What was Papa like?” I ask Nana.

  She stops her frantic nibbles and cocks a single brow. “You don’t remember? Well, I guess six is young. He adored you and vice versa.”

  “Has anyone seen Gio?” Mom shouts above us.

  I hold my breath and stare at Nana.

  “Was he home earlier today?” Dad asks.

  I don’t move an inch, even though I seriously need to scratch the side
of my nose.

  “No, I don’t think so. I didn’t see him,” Mom says.

  “Me neither,” says Cari.

  “Aria?” Dad’s tone rises. “Have you seen your brother?”

  I shrug, trying to act nonchalant, and mix the salad with the tip of the knife. “He’s with Tomás.”

  “No, he’s not,” Cari says. “I saw Tomás earlier at the Falls.”

  We all stare at her. There’s something in the way she says it that makes me think she’s hiding something. I don’t know what, but apparently I’m not the only family member who feels that way because our parents are staring at her, waiting for her to spill, too.

  She fidgets with the hem of her light blue T-shirt. “I like to be close to the water. It clears my head. Tomás was alone.”

  Darn, Cari. Way to ruin the lie.

  “They probably met up at the Falls after. I bet they’re together now.” Gosh, I hope I’m telling the truth. I called Tomás’ cell when I got home, but he didn’t answer.

  Dad walks to Mom and squeezes her shoulder. “We’ll sit him down tonight when he gets home and let him know that not keeping in touch with us is unacceptable.”

  Mom nods and whispers, “He’s nineteen now. Did he even sleep here last night?” She sniffles.

  My stomach drops. I hate when Mom’s upset. I stare at Nana. Please do something, I plead with my mind.

  “Spring equinox is only a few days away,” she says. “It should be fun.”

  Way to go changing the conversation, Nana.

  “Already?” Mom asks, rubbing the back of her neck. She’s usually the first one to remember these times to celebrate. She loves them so much.

  “Why’d you ask about your grandfather?” Nana whispers to me.

  I shrug. “No reason.”

  But is it true? I have Malik’s grandfather on my brain, so maybe that’s it.

  Or maybe there’s more?

  Like, how did Mr. Zayid know to chain himself up? The infection took over Gio within minutes. Could Mr. Zayid have known it was coming, or did it take longer for him? Both questions lead to more, but answers will be hard to come by. When I left Malik, he said he was feeding his grandfather broccoli in hopes he’ll be able to respond like Gio did in our garage, but Mr. Zayid seemed further gone than my brother.

  I hope it works though because I have a feeling Malik’s grandfather is more connected to this mess than anyone realizes.

  Chapter Twelve

  Buzzing sounds beside my head and I glance at my phone on my nightstand. It’s a text from Phoebe telling me she got home safe from the party and she’ll talk to me tomorrow. Good. One less person to worry about. It’s a few minutes before midnight—her curfew.

  Usually I’m a night owl, but all of the running and worrying today had me passed out right after nine. I try to roll back over, but my eyes are wide open. Staring at the wall isn’t fun, so I decide to get up and grab a glass of water.

  I fling the blankets off me and push my feet into my pair of pink ballet slippers, emphasis on the slippers part, beside my bed and grab the hoodie just in case.

  Cari is passed out and usually a deep sleeper, but I still tiptoe out of the room and downstairs.

  I love walking through the house when everyone else is asleep. There’s something about the darkness and quiet. It’s not the same early in the morning. I like it when not only my family is asleep but the rest of the neighborhood too.

  I peek out the window beside the door. The houses across the street are all dark, just the way I like it.

  After finishing the salad last night, I texted Tomás and told him I’d lost Gio. He hadn’t found him either. He offered to come stay in the garage in case Gio returned but that’s silly. I told him to get a good night’s rest in his own bed and to call me tomorrow. Which I guess is today.

  I flip on the light above the stove and grab a glass from the cupboard. I turn toward the fridge to get filtered water and there’s a bang at the back door. My heartbeat pounds against my chest, and I nearly drop the glass.

  What was that? It sounded like something hit the door. Maybe a bird? Wait, do birds fly at night?

  I set the glass on the counter and walk to the door. I turn on the outside light, hoping to discourage any home robbers from trying to break in. Not that I’ve heard of any home invasions in Nocturne Falls. I watch a lot of crime TV shows.

  There’s no movement from my view through the glass. Maybe it was a squirrel or a raccoon. I reach up to switch off the light and something flies at the door.

  I jump back and yelp as I realize there’s a face pressed against the glass.

  Not any face.

  Gio's.

  I unlock the latch and pull the door open, excited he’s finally home. When he takes a step inside, I realize this may be a bad idea. I put more than an arm’s length between us.

  “Why are you here?”

  “I’m hungry, and I don’t know where else to go.”

  He sounds mostly normal. He takes a seat at the breakfast bar. “Have you made any new salad?”

  “No, but…” I open the fridge door and spot a large head of broccoli in the crisper. “Do you want me to make more now?”

  The corners of his mouth twitch and his eyes widen. They’re still insanely light, but they seem beige now. “Yeah.”

  I pull the ingredients out of the fridge and start chopping.

  He stares and doesn’t look away.

  “What’s it like?” I ask.

  “What?”

  “How do you feel?”

  This causes him to glance at me before watching me add the broccoli to the big Tupperware bowl. “Weird. Like I’m not me anymore.”

  I don’t respond because I’m not sure what he means.

  “Remember the time we got sick after the day at the carnival? We both felt like crap the next day. We must’ve caught something there. Mom gave us NyQuil, and we felt all woozy?”

  I smile at the memory, especially the funnel cakes and cotton candy. “Yeah.”

  “It’s almost like that except…”

  “What?” I bite the inside of my cheek.

  “Worse. Like I’m underwater. It takes longer to understand and respond. It was horrible earlier. The food helps.”

  “But broccoli?”

  He shrugs, obviously not sure why he’s craving cruciferous veggies. Too bad the virus didn’t come with an instruction book. Life would be sweet.

  “Mom’s going crazy because she hasn’t heard from you.”

  He doesn’t respond. Mom’s expectations are a touchy subject when he’s normal, so it’s no surprise. I should’ve known better than to bring it up. While Gio is on the right road now, or was before being infected, he went through a rough patch junior year in high school. He stopped caring about his grades and skipped some classes. Mom was upset and Dad…well, he didn’t take it well. Gio never explained what happened, why he spiraled down for a semester, but eventually he got his grades back up and all was fine.

  He’s sensitive about doing well now though. I understand him not wanting to discuss Mom.

  “Have you been around other people tonight?” I ask, wanting him to say no.

  He deeply frowns. “What do you mean?”

  I finish all the chopping, toss everything into the bowl, and start on the dressing. “Any chance you accidentally scratched anyone?”

  I watch his expressionless face while adding the extra virgin olive oil to the small bowl.

  It takes almost a minute but then his eyes widen. “Oh, no, I don’t think so.”

  Good.

  I pour the dressing into the salad and give it a thorough mix. Then I set it in front of him.

  He takes a long whiff and gives another almost smile. It’s like his face is stuck in this in-between state and no matter how hard he tries, the smile won’t stick.

  My stomach sinks. Poor Gio. I hate seeing him this way. First thing in the morning, I need to ask Nana if she’s made any headway.

  �
��Wanna eat in the living room?” I’m in need of a soft couch instead of a straight back chair.

  He nods and I follow him in, carrying the bowl of salad and a fork. I consider grabbing a plate, but I have a feeling one won’t be necessary.

  Mom will have our hide for eating in any room but the kitchen or dining room, but I’ve no intention of her finding out. When Gio is done, I’ll clean it all up extra careful.

  He sits on the loveseat and I hand him the bowl.

  Persia jaunts into the room, gives me a meow and goes to sniff Gio. Her ears perk up and she runs off. Great. Now our black and white calico is scared of him. Persia is uppity about people, but she never runs away.

  Gio seems unfazed by it though. He’s too busy trying to figure out how to use the fork. Frustrated, he sets it down on the cushion beside him and sticks his hand in the bowl.

  Maybe we should’ve stayed in the kitchen.

  I run back to grab a bunch of paper towels, place one on his lap, and set the others on the coffee table. Then I lay on the couch, with my head at the end farthest from him. I’m comfy and can watch him at the same time.

  “Is it good?” I ask.

  He groans and I think of Malik’s grandfather. Please don’t let my brother get that advanced. It feels like such a silly request, considering he’s a zombie. Of course he’s going to get worse. But I need to put the request out into the Universe just the same.

  “It’s better than the store,” he says.

  I let out a sigh of relief mixed with a giggle.

  He doesn’t look up to see what I’m laughing at. It’s just as well because I don’t want to explain my fear of him turning into those on The Walking Dead.

  While he chows down, I fill him in on all he’s missed. I figure why not? He’ll be back to himself eventually, and this way he won’t need a scorecard to keep track.

  “So Cari's pregnant.”

  He slows down his chewing and shoveling but doesn’t completely stop. It makes me wonder if his brain can even process the intel. When he doesn’t appropriately react in horror, I purse my lips.

  Darn. I was hoping to shock him the way Cari had done to us.