Zombified

by Adam Gallardo

  Phil led the way. As quietly as he was able, he opened the gate that let us into the yard. We ran across a big expanse of lawn and stopped at the corner. Cody looked quickly around the side of the house into the backyard.

  “I think they’re going after the chickens,” he said. I heard birds squawking, so I was sure he was right. “We’ve gotta save those poor chickens.”

  “On three,” Phil said. “One, two . . .”

  We all started running, weapons at the ready. The zombies were trying to negotiate the chicken-wire fence that enclosed the coop. They looked up at us, as surprised as they could be since they were dead and all.

  Phil was in the lead, and he swung his bat at the naked dude Cody had seen. Even though that one went down, he had to hit it a few more time before it stayed. I ran past him and took out the next zombie in line, a beefy jock type with half his face gone. Luckily my tool didn’t get stuck in the dude’s cranium like the last time I’d used it.

  Cody ran past me and squared off against the third zombie. This one was a girl. She didn’t look like much, short and skinny, but she was a fast zombie, so you never knew.

  “You got her?” I asked Cody.

  “Yeah,” he said, “go get the last one.”

  The last one, another dude, was wrapped up in chicken wire so I thought he’d be easy pickings. He was a little older than the others we’d already taken on, maybe twenty or so, and he was another fast one.

  He hissed as I approached him.

  “Easy there, boy,” I said like he was a dog or something. “I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to bash your head in!” I lunged at him and he scooted away, chicken wire trailing behind him.

  “Are you kidding me?” I said to no one in particular.

  I heard squishy noises behind me and assumed that was Cody dealing with the chick. Phil came up and checked out the situation.

  “Try to get around him,” he said. “Cody, get up here. We’ll play pickle with him.”

  I had no clue what that meant, but I got the general idea. I ran as hard as I could toward the back fence and swung at him when he came near. The zombie veered away from me and turned toward Cody. It was like a deadly version of reverse tag as we chased him all across the yard. At one point, the thing stopped running and I thought that maybe it was finally tired. All three of us converged on it, weapons at the ready.

  At the last minute, it sprang at Phil, knocking him down, then ran past us and toward the front of the house. It was going to get away.

  Just as the thing reached the corner, a black-clad figure stepped out, sword drawn, and sliced the top of the runner’s head off. The thing actually ran for a few more steps before it realized it was a goner, then it just fell right on its face.

  Cody and I helped Phil to his feet. We warily approached the guy who’d come to our rescue.

  “Hey, Warren,” Phil said.

  Warren laughed as he pulled off his balaclava. “Guys,” he said, “that was truly pathetic. The three of you couldn’t handle one little ol’ shuffler.”

  “He was a runner,” Cody said. “And what are you doing here?”

  “I picked you up back in town,” Warren said. “I followed you for miles. I’m surprised you didn’t figure out someone was on your tail.”

  “We weren’t expecting to be followed,” Phil said.

  “Well,” said Warren as he sheathed his sword, “you ought to be glad I did. That ‘runner’ was about to embarrass you all.”

  “Forgive me if I’m not too happy about that,” I said. “Forgive me if I’ve had enough with boys showing up where they aren’t wanted.”

  Warren looked at me like he was surprised to see me there. “Is that you, Courtney?” he asked. “I have to admit I’m surprised to see you and Phil hanging out.”

  I thought I was going to vomit. Warren wasn’t really going to do this, was he?

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Phil asked.

  Warren looked at all of us, and he started laughing all over again. He actually doubled over. The son of a bitch. I thought about drawing my pistol and wiping the smile right off his face.

  “You didn’t tell him, Courtney?” Warren asked. “Well, why would you, I guess.”

  “Courtney?” Cody said.

  Phil refused to look at anyone but Warren. “I asked what you’re talking about.”

  “Phil,” I said, “I was going to tell you.”

  “I didn’t ask you,” Phil said, his voice deadly calm. “I asked him.”

  Warren stopped laughing and took on a look of mock solemnity. “The last time we went out on a hunt,” he said as I placed my hand on the butt of my pistol. Warren saw this and shook his head. “You won’t do that,” he said. Then he turned back to Phil. “Me and her had a nice little makeout session.”

  Everyone stood frozen. If it hadn’t been for the wind, I’d have thought that time had stopped.

  “We’d have gone further,” Warren said. “But she suddenly got an attack of conscience.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Phil asked.

  Warren put his hand over his heart. “I knew she wouldn’t, and I thought, as your friend, you had a right to know.”

  Phil’s hand tightened on his baseball bat. “Make fun of me or Courtney again and I’ll kill you, understand?” he asked.

  Quicker than I thought possible, Warren drew his sword and brandished it at Phil.

  “You really think you’d be able to manage that?” he asked.

  “I bet the two of us could,” Cody said and hefted his bat.

  Christ, this was all getting out of hand. Someone was going to get hurt or killed, and all because I had poor impulse control.

  “Everyone just stop,” I said.

  “Keep out of this, Courtney,” Warren said. “I think this is between me and them.”

  “It’s between you and your ass, you douche,” I said. I stepped between him and the boys.

  “I screwed up,” I said to Phil. “I was going to tell you, I swear, but there was never a good time.” A chirping sound started up, but I ignored it. “Please believe me when I tell you it was a mistake and I felt terrible about what I’d done.”

  “Courtney,” Phil said, as the chirping sound continued.

  “Please let me finish,” I said. “I wish I’d said all of this a long time ago.”

  “Courtney,” Phil said again, “answer your phone.”

  My phone? It rang in my pocket, but everyone who might call me was right here.

  “My dad,” I said. Dad had discovered I’d sneaked out. Oh, God, on top of everything, now I’d have to deal with being grounded again. I walked away from the boys—let them kill each other. I swallowed hard, thumbed the answer button, and brought the phone to my ear.

  “Dad?” I said.

  “Courtney?” Dad said. There was something wrong with his voice. “Thank God, are you with Phil, are you safe?”

  That was a relative term, but I knew what he meant.

  “Yeah, Dad,” I said. “I’m safe, I’m with Phil. What’s going on, Dad?”

  “I’m not sure,” Dad said. “Something outside woke me up. There are a lot of zombies outside the house. They’re just milling around out there, I’m not sure why.”

  Him saying that triggered something, some deep memory, but I wasn’t quite able to dredge it up, not that it was important now.

  “Dad, did you call the police?” I asked. At that, Phil took a step or two toward me, then stopped.

  “I did,” he said. “Nine-one-one is on the landline. I told them I needed to call you to make sure you were safe.” I heard him rummaging around.

  “What’s that noise?” I asked.

  “Digging the shotgun out of the closet,” Dad said. “I doubt I’ll need it, but you never know.” He chuckled like he was trying to make me feel better.

  “How long until the cops get there?” I asked. I realized I was crying.

  “Oh, pumpkin,” Dad said. “I didn’t call you to upset y
ou.”

  “Get me home!” I yelled at the boys. “Please just get me home!”

  A floodlight sprang to life, plunging us into false day. Someone stepped out into the backyard from the house, and there was the sound of a shell being racked into a shotgun.

  “Who’s out there?” a voice demanded. “Did you get into my chickens?”

  “What’s going on there?” Dad asked. Those were the last words he ever said to me.

  I heard Phil’s voice cut in as he stepped up and guided me to the car. “Warren, explain what’s going on. I need to get Courtney home. Cody, come on.”

  Without Phil’s help, I’d have never found the car, the tears were falling so furiously. On the phone I heard Dad curse, then the sound of splintering wood and shattering glass. A thud, maybe the phone dropping. Dad cursed and there was a shotgun blast. And another.

  Cody helped me into the front seat and closed the door. Phil already had the car started, and he sped off the moment Cody’s butt was in the seat.

  “What’s going on, Courtney?” Cody asked. I ignored him.

  I heard more shotgun blasts, but they weren’t as loud, like they were farther away. Had Dad moved down the hall?

  More shots. Was that eight or nine? I’d lost count. He’d have to reload soon. Muffled shouting, thudding, then the sound of splintering wood again. And one last shotgun blast. There was nothing for a moment, then I heard my dad’s anguished scream as the zombies fell on him.

  I let out an animal wail that made Phil swerve the car. After that, I collapsed into the seat and sobbed. At some point the phone slipped from my hand and fell to the floor of the car.

  As I wept, I was aware that Phil’s hand rested on my leg. He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to soothe me, just let me be aware of his presence. Somehow that made me sob even harder.

  I’d settled down some by the time Phil pulled the car in front of the house. The whole front section of the chain-link fence had been pushed down and the lawn had obviously been churned up by dozens of pairs of feet. The front door was split in half, part of it lying on the ground, the other barely still on the hinges.

  I opened the gate and started walking across the lawn. Phil shouted after me to wait for the cops. I didn’t listen.

  Two zombies lay dead in the doorway. Another three were sprawled on the muddy, gore-soaked carpet in the living room. As soon as I entered the house, I smelled rotten meat and decay, and crap. I heard the phone making that screeching noise you get when you forget to hang up. I ignored it. I felt like I was in a dream as I walked down the hallway and drew my pistol from its holster. I stepped over another body to reach the bedroom at the end of the hall.

  “Courtney?” Phil was back by the front door, taking in the scene I’d just walked through.

  The door to Dad’s bedroom looked like it had been blown up; fragments lay all over. One more zombie was crumpled at the foot of the bed. When I saw what lay on top of the bed, I let out a strangled cry.

  Dad had been laid out on top of the covers, and he’d been gutted—his insides all around him on the bed.

  “Oh, Dad.” I knew I’d have plenty of weeping ahead of me, but not then. Not yet.

  I walked over to the bed and sat down next to my dad, careful not to sit in the blood that soaked into the covers. I put my hand on his cheek.

  “Courtney.” Phil stood in the doorway.

  “Six of them,” I said. Phil looked confused. “He had nine shots in that shotgun, and he got six of them.” I caressed his cheek, felt the rough stubble on the palm of my hand. “This is your badass zombie hunter,” I said.

  Phil stood over the bed, unsure what to say or do.

  “We need to go, maybe,” he said. “They left him like this. He might . . .”

  “I know,” I said. He might turn. I also knew that he’d been left like this deliberately. They left him for me to deal with. Not they, him. Brandon.

  I took my pistol in my hand and placed the barrel under his chin.

  “I’d never let him have you twice,” I said, and I pulled the trigger.

  The shot was loud inside the room. It rang in my ears and the smell of cordite filled my nose. I stared up at the ceiling, refusing to look at what had become of my dad. Not that I would have seen anything; tears filled my eyes, refracting the light and making me blind.

  “Get some things together,” Phil said. “You can’t stay here.”

  “Where am I supposed to go?”

  “With me,” he said. “You’ll stay with me and my aunt and uncle.”

  I hung my head. “God, after what you just learned tonight?”

  “I’m not happy with you right now,” he said, “but I’m not going to abandon you after this. Please, get some things and let’s go out and wait for the cops.”

  I let him help me up. We went into my bedroom and saw that it had been trashed. Everything had been upended, shattered glass crunched under our feet, and it looked like the mattress and bedding had been ripped to shreds.

  “Looks like Brandon was upset to find you not at home,” Phil said.

  “I’m going to kill him,” I said. “I mean it, that’s not just something I’m saying.”

  “I know,” Phil said.

  He helped me find my backpack. I picked out a few pieces of clothing that weren’t ripped or too covered in glass. Phil helped me get my desk upright and I found my laptop in the drawer where I kept it. It looked like it had made it through unscathed. That went into the bag, too.

  All of the drawers had been pulled out of my dresser. I finally found the one with a false bottom—the false bottom Willie had made for me before he was killed by zombies last year. I removed the baggie of Vitamin Z and then threw the drawer down on the floor.

  “I still need to get this to Dr. Keller,” I said.

  After that, I gathered some stuff from the bathroom.

  “Is that everything?” Phil asked.

  I thought for a minute. “Nearly,” I said.

  I went back into Dad’s bedroom, careful not to look at him on top of the bed.

  I went to his chest of drawers and opened the one that contained all the stuff he wanted to keep away from me. Underneath a pile of old Playboys, I found the gallon-sized Ziploc full of cash I’d earned in my time selling Vitamin Z for Buddha. Phil’s eyes went wide when he saw the money. I put it into my bag.

  We walked back into the living room. I didn’t hear the screeching sound anymore. Phil must have hung up the phone.

  By this time we heard sirens. The cops were finally on the way.

  “Okay,” I said, “now I’m done.”

  I had just enough time to stash my things in Phil’s trunk before the cops arrived. They had surprisingly few questions. Turns out they’d heard most everything I did over the landline phone. Mostly they wanted to know where I’d been at the time of the attack. I told them I was out with friends. Then they wanted to know if I needed a place to stay. I looked over at Phil, who was answering his own questions.

  “I have a place,” I said.

  The policeman gave me a couple of cards after that. One was for a crisis center that helped people out after losing loved ones to zombies, and another was a service that cleaned up houses after violent instances. That was what he called it, a “violent instance.”

  I thanked him and sat in the car to wait for Phil.

  When he was done, he climbed in and got us going.

  “The police will get Cody home,” he said.

  I didn’t answer. It didn’t seem like anything needed to be said.

  Phil drove us to his place, and we didn’t speak the entire way.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Pretending to Be a Grown-up

  I thought that losing my two best friends at the end of the previous school year might be some sort of preparation for losing my dad. I mean, years of school had taught me that anything could be dealt with if you just prepared and studied enough, right? Well, that was just stupid. There was literally no way you co
uld prepare for so much loss.

  I woke up every morning in the guest bedroom that Phil’s aunt and uncle had been nice enough to provide for me, and I experienced the same crushing realization that Dad was gone. Every morning. God, that was the time I really should have learned that Hemingway quote.

  The hardest thing I had to do in those first few days, maybe the hardest thing I had to do ever, was to attend the memorial service for my dad. Gene arranged it for me, for which I was super grateful. Since it was standard operating procedure to cremate folks in those days, I didn’t have to worry about paying for a burial plot. We just had a little metal urn full of Dad’s ashes on a stand up by the lectern, where a priest stood and told everyone how great my dad was even though they’d never met. Yes, we had a priest. Give me a break, I was looking for comfort wherever I could find it.

  A whole ton of Dad’s coworkers showed up, and a few of our neighbors. Dad didn’t seem to have many friends outside of work, but it was still nice to see how many people showed up. It was less nice when I realized that they might all want to talk to me, to express their condolences. That was just one long, sad parade that I barely made it through.

  My mom didn’t come, but that might have been because I hadn’t invited her. Must have slipped my mind.

  Phil’s aunt and uncle tried to make things as easy for me as possible. I mean, they opened their home up to me and told me to stay as long as I needed. They knew about my mom, but they also knew there was some complicated history there. I really had no interest in moving to Seattle halfway through my senior year of high school. I was guessing that they didn’t know that I’d messed up and complicated my history with their nephew, too. I wonder how openly they’d have welcomed me if they did. I guess I was just lucky that Phil wasn’t petty. It felt like he and I were starting from scratch, sure, but he didn’t denounce me like I was the junior version of Hester Prynn.

  Maybe things would have been easier somehow if he had been as hard on me as I was on myself those days. I blamed myself for everything—my rocky relationship with Phil, my dad’s death, the rise of a new zombie breed. Man, that was a lot of blame for one girl to shoulder.

  Even though things were bad in the months following Dad’s murder, there were some good things, too. Things that are easier to point out in hindsight than they were at the time. I mailed the Vitamin Z sample off to Dr. Keller, along with a note asking that he please not ask me where I got it—so I felt like I was helping in the anti-zombie effort. I hated like hell that I wasn’t going to see him up in Portland, but there was no way I could have done it just then with everything that was going on.