Girl Z: My Life As A Teenage Zombie

by Verstraete, CA

  Saying goodnight, I hugged her again before running upstairs, a plan in mind. I had to find out what was going on out there. Cam and I needed to know what we faced other than the crazies.

  In my room, the door closed, I hurriedly dabbed more makeup over some of my darker spots and threw on a black hoodie. Black jeans and a pair of old black sneakers completed the outfit.

  I slid open my window, crawled out, and climbed down the trellis like I’d done a couple times in the past. All I needed was an hour or so, enough time to see what was going on and get back before my hunger pangs kicked in.

  Running down the street, I turned at the corner, and headed for downtown. A good place to give me an idea of what was going on, I decided. I jogged the few blocks, grateful for the lack of moonlight, which not only hid my features but kept anyone from paying too much attention to my weird running gait. Laughter and the sound of breaking glass drifted from across the way. I ran faster, then hurriedly crossed the street to avoid a group of kids up ahead.

  “Hey, chica, where you goin’?” one of the guys yelled.

  I kept my face hidden and ran faster. Finally, I stopped at the end of our tiny, two-block downtown with its art gallery, movie theater and shops, and watched. People stood on the corner talking; others went into the restaurant or went to their cars. It seemed like any other night except for the group of armed Guardsmen stopping people in the next block. Oh, the curfew! They must be telling people to go home.

  I took a few steps nearer and stood, pretending to study the pet shop window while I eavesdropped. The conversations I heard sent a chill up my spine.

  “Her cousin was fine, and then she broke out with these weird spots.”

  “Guy started coughing and then he keeled over. Scary.”

  “His neighbor turned into one of those freaks. He almost seemed normal sometimes.”

  “Those things will end up killing us one way or another.”

  Their conversation drew my attention. I gazed in their direction, and too late saw the woman’s eyes widen as our gazes met. She leaned over and whispered in her friend’s ear. “What?” he yelled.

  He turned and glared at me. Voices rose as everyone else turned and stared. Uh-oh, I’d better get out of here.

  “Hey, it’s one of them!” another woman yelled.

  This time I didn’t move fast enough. In two steps, the man rushed over and grabbed me, curling a big beefy hand around my arm like he was holding a chicken leg. I struggled and tried to pull free, but couldn’t loose myself from his stranglehold. His fingers tightened.

  “No, let me go, please,” I begged. “Please, I’m not one of them! Oww, let me go! You’re hurting me!”

  Lucky for me, his girlfriend whispered something and he loosened his grip, which allowed me to shake free. I took off, glad to escape more interest from others coming out of the restaurant and from the Guardsmen heading this way. I ran as fast as I could, my feet getting tangled up in each other every now and then. I tripped, but kept going. My insides quivered, the fear growing that any minute someone would jump out from behind a building or lunge from a gangway and grab me as I loped past.

  Breathing hard, I half-jogged, half-skipped down the empty street, glad the groups I’d passed earlier seemed to have moved somewhere else. The rumble of a truck made me duck into the darkness next to a house. I watched the vehicle with two Guardsmen drive by and waited until it was quiet again before I peeked out. The coast clear, I jogged-loped down the street. I rounded the corner never happier to see my house up ahead, dark except for the small lamp shining from my upper bedroom window.

  My feet on the trellis, I spurred myself on, climbing up and into the window, thrilled to be home, safe and sound.

  I was safe from everyone now, except myself. I sat and waited for my stomach to start gurgling and growling.

  Chapter Nine

  My brain (the unmushy part, anyway) felt drained from the night’s drama. Carm would probably, no, definitely, call me crazy for going out, but it had to be done. At least I now had a better idea of just what we’d be facing if, or when, we left. If my little experiment indicated anything, we could expect things to get even crazier as the days went on and the virus continued to spread.

  I threw off the hoodie, slipped off my shoes, and jumped under the covers, arranging the blankets around me like I was in a cocoon and relaxed, waiting for some warmth to creep in. It would take a while since these days my body tended to run more on the cooler side.

  Giving myself a tap on the side of my head got my one eye looking again in the right direction. What a pain.

  I fixated on the eerie glow of the fake stars glued on my ceiling and let my thoughts go, willing myself to go down, down, down, to sleep. My mind went blank as I drifted off.

  Then, in what felt like only minutes later, (sleep was becoming less and less real or necessary), my eyes blinked open as if they’d been hooked to a wire someone gave a good yank. Glancing sideways, the glowing clock face mocked me. Midnight. Less than two hours had passed.

  With a sigh, I shifted and moved the cover, closed my eyes, and willed myself to relax, and hopefully sleep. The clock ticked off the minutes: ten, fifteen, thirty, thirty-five, forty-five, and I was still awake. Nothing worked. Not burrowing deeper under the covers, not turning to my side or on my back. I’d close my eyes, relax and feel like I was dozing off when once again, my eyes would spring open.

  To give myself something to do, I gazed at the ceiling and began to count the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars I’d stuck there a couple months ago, anything to keep from going crazy. Every day brought some new quirk. Now I realized I’d have to restructure my time and learn to cope since it appeared I didn’t need much more than a couple hours sleep each night—if that.

  The house lay quiet around me except for an occasional creak or a scrape outside the window. The quilt wrapped around me, I rolled out of bed, went and plopped down on the window seat, and set up my vigil.

  I stared outside. Nothing stirred, except for me.

  My hands around my knees, I rocked back and forth, wondering how in the world I’d fill my time if I ended up sitting awake half the night. Read? Maybe a little, but I didn’t much feel like it. Make more paintballs? I could, but I’d already filled half the box.

  I sat there for more than an hour, staring out the window, thinking about nothing. It felt good to simply “be”—to not think about anything or anyone—but a shift in my body told me it was nearly time.

  Feeding time at the zoo.

  A gurgle began in the pit of my stomach. Grimacing, I wondered how long it would take until I turned into a full-fledged monster.

  I began to fret as the gurgle in my stomach turned into a loud growl. A glance at the clock didn’t make me feel any better. Two-thirty. Would I make it to six?

  I doubted it.

  Maybe we shouldn’t have been so casual about this whole thing. There had to be a reason why I’d been alone in the hospital room and my meals left for me.

  It was different being here at home. Scarier. Would I hurt anyone?

  Would I still think normal, or be able to think at all?

  Ohh, I whined. I should’ve thought this through better!

  The next pang had me doubled over, my hands curled as they clutched my stomach. Hungry! Food!

  My teeth and mouth began to chomp. The pains began to appear more frequently, the intensity growing. I didn’t know how much longer I could stand it.

  Food-eat-so hungry…

  Things were moving too fast. I didn’t have much time. I’d be lucky if I made it another half–hour.

  Drool dripped from my lips and snaked down my chin.

  My breath came in rapid gasps. I stomped around the room, shoving things out of my way, not caring how much noise I made at such an early hour.

  Who cared what time it was? My thoughts narrowed and honed in. A platter filled with chicken, tamales, fruit, all kinds of yummy food, appeared in my mind.

  Hungry! I h
ad to eat! Food!

  I flung open the door, grasped at the rail and heaved in and out, my gasps making me sound like some freaking steam engine. I’d thought of going downstairs and getting the food myself, but there was no guarantee I’d make it back upstairs.

  The changes were coming—fast.

  The images in my head took a nasty turn. Flashes of those things filled my mind. Their faces were vivid, red, biting…chewing… I grabbed my head and squeezed my temples. Dios, por favor, make it stop!

  It repulsed me, yet…my mouth watered.

  I yelled, not caring what kind of monster I resembled, or how my aunt and cousin would feel being jolted awake in the middle of the night by some rabid, howling creature.

  I couldn’t think of them.

  Hands on the rail, I jumped up and down. The hunger grew and loomed large in my mind. It raged; the roar of an ocean filled my ears. “CARM-CARM! I NEED FOOD NOW!”

  A commotion downstairs grabbed my attention for a minute. I stared at my wide-eyed cousin who stood at the bottom of the stairs. Her face turned white as I glared in her direction.

  “CARM! WHERE’S MY FOOD? GET IT NOW!” I barely focused on my aunt who quickly handed a platter over to Carm and stepped back out of sight. I tried to control the urge to rush down the stairs and yank the plate from her hand. I inched back and forth, jumping from one foot to the other as she slowly came up the stairs and stood there, platter in hand.

  “Bec, here…”

  She dropped the platter and screamed as I moved in closer.

  I took two big steps, and then another, near enough to glare in her face. Her wide-eyed fear went ignored.

  The need took over. Hungry!

  Carm shrieked when I grabbed her arm and stared at it, licking my lips, the urge to do the unthinkable overtaking me.

  Lucky for her, a moment of lucidity broke through. I dropped her arm and jumped back with a snarl. Carm quickly picked up the platter, shoved it at me, and started to back down the stairs.

  I glared at her, the hunger pulsing within. A growl in my throat, I thrust my head toward her, my voice deep and low as I threatened, “Run, you fool. RUN!”

  The platter of raw food drew me like a moth seeking light. The sound of Carm’s clattering down the stairs and my aunt’s sobs in the background didn’t faze me. I ran into my bedroom with the plate and threw the lock. Not even the sounds of feet pounding and furniture being moved in the hall outside my door kept me interested for more than a few seconds.

  My last rational thought was to grab a couple old T-shirts to throw over the front of me. I slumped to the floor, pulled the platter closer, and sniffed.

  I relished the raw, meaty scent. Every pore, every cell in my body, yearned and opened in response.

  As the final pang kicked in, the hunger took over, wrapping everything around me in a blur. I bent and devoured the raw poultry.

  I gulped down the slimy chunks, fighting the gag reflex as I continued to slurp and chew, the globs of fat encircling my mouth. I chewed, burped and licked my lips, not caring about anything, or anyone, except the here and now.

  I had only one thing on my mind—stopping the raging, blinding hunger.

  An hour later, I sat up and groaned. My body flopped around while I tried to get my bearings.

  I was drunk on food, my head groggy. My disgust grew at sight of the slimy platter on the floor beside me. I tried to shake myself awake from my gorge-induced trance. My nose crinkled as I eyed the globs and bits of food clinging to my shirt.

  Yuck, how revolting. I so-so hated this.

  Would I have to do this over and over again, just like in the hospital?

  I wondered if eating earlier, before the pangs kicked in, would change things? Maybe it would calm me and ward off my animal-like reactions. I figured out a six-times-a-day food schedule I hoped would work. If I kept my body fully fueled, I reasoned, maybe I wouldn’t turn into a character straight from those late night “Creature Feature” movies.

  A noise outside the door stopped my self-examination. “Carm? Is that you?”

  More noise. My aunt would’ve talked to me or something by now, I figured. What was she doing just standing there quiet? “Carm, are you there? Don’t worry, I’m okay.”

  “B-Bec, are you done? Do you want something?”

  Wiping my face, I pulled off the filthy shirt and slipped on a new tee before I went to the door. I opened it a couple inches and peeked through the crack. “Move this stuff, will you? I need to take a shower. Don’t worry, it’s over. I’m back to myself.”

  Her hesitation made me feel awful. Sheesh. Even my BFF thought I was a freak.

  “A-are you sure?”

  I wasn’t, not really, but the way Carm eyed me, I had to say something. “Honest. It’s over, for now. I need to change and talk to my aunt. We need to get a tighter hold on this.”

  The scream of wood sliding against the floor interrupted us as she shoved the dresser aside.

  “Carm? How’s my aunt?”

  The other girl shrugged, even as she took a step back. “She’s kind of upset. You shook her up pretty good.”

  ARGHHH! What an absolute jerk I was.

  “Yeah, I know. Give her a hug for me, okay? I’ll be down after I change.”

  After I heard her go downstairs, I slipped into the bathroom, locked the door, and turned on the shower. The hot water felt fantastic on my cool, dry skin. I luxuriated in the soap suds, rinsing my hair, fretting as my hand came away with a few more strands. Crap. Was I losing my hair now, too? I bit back a sob. What else was going to happen?

  As if in answer, a small spot on the side of my leg, the edges wrinkled, the center pinkish, made me pause. I examined it, the dread growing.

  Oh, no. Did I have—? Yup. A sore.

  Uh-oh. Bad news.

  Horrible images of those ravaged things wandering outside, limbs hanging or missing, covered in ugly, ghastly sores, came to mind.

  Por favor, Dios, no, por favor. Anything but that.

  The panic rose and threatened to choke me. Struggling to hold myself in check, I leaned my elbows against the front wall of the shower and let the warm water pour over me. My breath wheezed and came out in rapid gasps, making me sound as sick as I felt.

  Breathe.

  After several minutes, I got my emotions under control. I didn’t want to think about what it might mean. No way. Not yet.

  Getting out of the bathtub, I slathered myself with the special olive complexion toned moisturizer and added another layer of the custom-mixed foundation to my legs, arms, and face. My hair combed back and braided, I dabbed on a good-sized blob of antiseptic and stuck a bandage over the weird spot. Something I’d have to keep an eye on (and not the twirly one).

  I shuffled down the stairs at a snail’s pace, not wanting to scare Carm and my aunt, not wanting to see the fear in their eyes.

  My aunt acted like nothing was wrong, though her fingers quivered a little as she pushed a small dish of chicken nuggets my way when I came in. Yum, my favorite snack. Extra slimy.

  Ick.

  My eyes got a little watery as I realized how I’d treated her and Carm. I began to sniffle. “Tia, I’m sorry I was so mean to you.”

  To her credit, my aunt gave me a hug and kissed my cheek. “Honey, sí, it was a shock, but it’ll get better. I realize maybe you should eat something before you go to bed, you know, head it off.”

  The tea she offered felt good and warm in my hands. I sipped, enjoying the apple-cinnamon flavor, a nice taste change, as much as I could taste anyway. The cranberry was getting kind of boring. At least liquids didn’t seem to upset my system, giving me some hope. “I didn’t think I’d be up so early, but I barely slept. I-I don’t think I need much sleep anymore.”

  Her face drooped when she turned my way. “Sí, honey, I heard about that. The doctor had warned it might happen. Now eat a little more.”

  I stuck a small piece in my mouth, chewed and swallowed, trying to keep my face turned aside
as I ate. No need to gross everyone out.

  “Tia, I think we should have my food early, in case I need it. I don’t know what time I need to eat. Maybe I’ll start earlier. Do we have a cooler or something I can use?”

  A thoughtful expression came over her face before her eyes widened. “Ah, I think I do.”

  She went to the pantry and came back carrying a small cooler about the size of a soda six-pack. “This is all I have. Will this work? We can buy a bigger one if you need it.”

  “No, it’s perfect. That should work. It’ll hold enough to take me through the night.”

  A line from the John Lennon song my mama played over and over when she was home, Whatever Gets You Through the Night, flashed in my mind. Great.

  I grabbed an ice pack from the freezer, and tucked it into the cooler. Tia put in several plastic-wrapped trays of chicken nuggets and tenders, nice and slimy raw, just the way I liked them. Mmm.

  “Perfect. Gracias, Tia.” I kissed her cheek and grabbed the cooler. “I’ll take this upstairs and let you go back to sleep. Ignore me if I get noisy later on, but I don’t think it’ll happen again, all right?”

  The way Carm slinked a few steps behind me drew my attention. She tried to act like nothing was wrong, but I couldn’t miss the deer-in-the-headlights look on her face. Time to trade my chicken for crow. I paused and tried to put her at ease.

  “Carm, I owe you an apology. Big time. I’m sorry I scared you.”

  Her eyes round, she tried to make light of it. “It’s okay, Bec. It’s just, uh, I didn’t expect you to stare at me, you know, like-like that.”

  “You mean like your arm was a giant chicken wing?” I asked.

  She blanched and pursed her lips. I almost expected her to run back down the steps.

  “Hey cuz, I’m sorry. I really, really am. Forgive me, por favor? We still pals?” Relief flooded in when she finally agreed. “Okay, then let’s forget it. I think I have a better idea of how to handle this. I don’t think you need to barricade my door anymore. I have my emergency supplies.” I held up the cooler. “You better go to bed. See you in the morning?”