If this was the UN, Dillon had just proclaimed himself China. Okay, I’d find a way to work with that.
“I don’t want to shut down the kegger,” I said. “Believe me. I think we need to encourage as many people as possible to be there, in fact.”
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Dillon said, and he bumped fists with Michael. Charming.
“Okay,” I said. “I think you all know, or have heard about, what the three of us did last year when Brandon’s party got attacked, right?” Everyone looked at Phil, Cody, and me, and they nodded. “And some of you were there.” I looked at the jock contingent. “You know, you saw it. We were able to organize a counterattack and then start moving folks out of the house and to the cars and safety.”
“Not everyone made it out of that house alive,” Zander said.
“Yeah, but that had nothing to do with us,” Phil said. “They’d been sent into the room at the back of the cabin before we ever showed up with extra guns and ammo.”
Zander considered that for a minute, then his body language relaxed.
“That’s true,” he said.
“Over the last school year,” I went on, “you’ve all either seen or heard about a new kind of zombie. A smarter, faster zombie. Right?” Everyone agreed. “We think these zombies are smart enough to organize and give and follow orders. Phil and I saw them—saw maybe a hundred of them—attack an apartment building up in Portland.”
“What were you doing up in Portland?” someone asked.
“Yeah, how’d you get past the Army roadblocks?” Gabe asked.
“That might be a topic for later,” I said, “or for never, since the answer might get us into hot water with the police. But please believe us that we were there and that we saw this. Can you do that?”
Everyone agreed they could. They were all a lot more reluctant, but they still agreed.
“Good,” I said. “It’s important that you believe us about that attack. Because we think we know where they plan to attack next.”
“The senior kegger,” Dillon said.
“Right,” Phil said.
“But you don’t want us to cancel it?” he asked.
“We don’t want to cancel it,” I said. “We don’t want people to stay away from it. In fact, our plan depends on as many people coming to the kegger as possible. Hell, we may even want to invite the juniors and sophomores to come.”
“But not the freshmen,” Phil said.
“No, probably not the freshmen,” I agreed.
“Okay,” Ray, the king of the goths, said. “So, what is this plan?”
“The plan is really simple,” I said. Then I laid it out for them.
It was just about fifteen minutes later before everyone got up and started filing out of the room. That had included time for questions and answers.
“I think that went pretty well,” I said to Phil. I noticed he wasn’t looking at me.
Warren still sat at the table grinning at us. I really wanted to slap that grin off his face.
“You didn’t ask, but I thought it went good,” he said.
“Well,” I said.
I took a lot of joy in watching his grin go down a notch.
“What the hell do you want?” Cody asked.
“I heard about this little powwow,” he said. “And I thought I’d see what it was all about. I thought I’d get invited, but I guess that got lost in the mail.”
“Why would we invite you?” Cody asked.
“Why would you invite me?” Warren parroted back. He looked totally offended.
“Cody’s right,” I said, “which is something I never expected to say.”
“Thanks,” Cody said.
“We invited people who’d be able turn around and get other people to join in and help us with the plan,” I said. “Last I checked, the only person you could get to follow you anywhere is . . . Who exactly?”
He leaned his chair back and crossed his arms. “You seemed ready to follow me some interesting places.”
Phil started to stand up, but I put my hand on his arm and he sat down.
Warren chuckled like he thought it was funny. Like he wasn’t threatened at all by Phil. Maybe he didn’t realize that if he started something with Phil, he’d have to deal with me and Cody, too.
“That’s another thing,” I said. “You are absolutely the biggest douche I know. Maybe the biggest douche I have ever met.”
“Hey,” he said, “I wasn’t the one who kissed you.”
“This doesn’t have anything to do with the kissing,” I said. “I accept full responsibility for that. No, what makes you a tool is that you then tried to use that to drive a wedge between me and Phil. What made you do that?”
“Maybe I did it because—”
“You’re an ass,” I said. “We’ve established that. Listen, you want to show up at the kegger, we’re not going to stop you. Heck, we can use you there, but don’t think you’re somehow going to become our best buddy or something.”
He rocked his chair forward and stood up. I thought he was going to say something, but he just turned and walked out of the room.
We all sat there for a while to recover.
“I’m sorry,” I said to Phil.
“Why?” he shot back.
“Because I gave that guy the ammunition he’s been using against us.”
“If it hadn’t been”—he stopped and cleared his throat—“if it hadn’t been you kissing him, it would have been something else eventually. Some people are only happy when they’re creating chaos in everyone else’s lives.”
“Yeah, well,” I said, “I’d still rather it had been one of you two doing something rather than me.”
“I don’t think either of us would make out with him,” Cody said.
“Speak for yourself,” Phil said, his face deadpan. “He may be a jerk, but he’s still pretty dreamy.”
“You guys are a regular comedy duo,” I said. “Like Martin and Lame-Ass.”
“I’m Martin,” they both said at the same time. Then they cracked up. Okay, that had been sort of funny.
“All right, smart-asses,” I said. “Let’s get home. Some of us still have some finals to study for.”
“How can you study knowing what’s coming up on Saturday night?” Cody asked as we got up.
We gathered the cups and plates that people had left behind.
“I can study because I know that I’m going to be alive on Sunday,” I said. “And those test results are going to be important.”
“Makes sense,” Cody said. “But I still don’t think I’m going to study too much.”
I guess we all dealt with the impending apocalypse in our own ways.
Over the next two days, I had three finals—including one out at the community college. I was pretty sure that I did okay. I was more or less done with school after I put my pencil down on that last test. Sure, we’d all still be coming to campus next week, but all we’d be doing was a bunch of looking-back-on-your-school-career type stuff. There were assemblies planned, a field day—a field day, like we were in elementary school! We’d get our last yearbooks. All of this pseudo-nostalgic bullshit. As if most of us couldn’t wait to get the hell away from the place and never come back. The worst part was that if we skipped, they might withhold our diplomas come graduation on Friday night.
It just felt like one last opportunity for the school district to bully us.
Fine, whatever, I’d take another week of this place if it meant I got to escape at the end of it.
That Thursday, we took Cody out to shoot our guns like we’d promised. He brought along a bunch of oversized stuffed animals that he’d bought at Goodwill.
“What are those for?” I asked.
“Target practice,” he said, plainly disgusted that he’d had to actually say out loud something so obvious.
We drove out north and found a large field that wasn’t fenced in. We walked into it a ways, each of us carrying a couple of ridiculous no
velty animals. Once we got far enough away from the road, we arranged the animals and stepped back away from them.
“I feel weird about shooting Mr. Cuddles,” I said.
“It’s your fault for naming him,” Cody said. Then he raised his shotgun, quickly aimed, and pulled the trigger. A giant blue cat tumbled through the air, spewing stuffing as it went. Cody howled and danced around.
Then it was my turn.
I felt bad about how good it felt to shoot Mr. Cuddles. We didn’t stop shooting until all that was left of the animals was some brightly colored fur and our memories of them.
I saw Ms. Bjorn, the counselor, one last time the next day.
I sat across from her, the desk between us, and she stared at me for a while.
“What have you been up to?” she asked.
I got suddenly paranoid. What did she suspect? Worse, what did she know?
“I’m not sure what you mean,” I said.
“You just seem different,” she said, and I relaxed. She was just saying the same thing Chacho had said a while ago; it had just taken her a lot longer to notice it. I guess that was one reason she was stuck here in a high school rather than a real psychologist’s practice.
God, that seemed bitchy even to me.
“Just taking charge of my life, you know?” I said.
“How so?” she asked.
“I’d messed up a while ago,” I said and she raised an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt. “I hurt someone close to me and I finally owned up to it and apologized. Things have gotten a lot better.”
“Care to elaborate?” she asked.
“Not really,” I said.
“Okay,” she said reluctantly. “Have you heard back from Columbia yet?”
“Not yet.”
“I’m sure you will soon,” she said. “And I know what the answer will be.” She opened up a drawer in the desk and pulled out a gift-wrapped package. A small one. She set it on the desk in front of me.
“For me?” I asked.
“No wonder everyone thinks you’re so smart,” she said.
Ms. Bjorn was sassing me. I liked it.
“Go ahead,” she said. “Open it.”
I picked it up—it was obviously a book—and tore open the paper.
“It’s hopelessly out of date,” Ms Bjorn said. “I mean, the last year they printed an updated guide was back in 2005, after all.”
I held a battered copy of The Rough Guide to New York in my hands. It looked like it had spent a lot of time in someone’s backpack.
“That was the copy I used when I went to New York,” Ms. Bjorn said. “The maps will still be good, at least. God knows what businesses will be open when you head back East.”
I didn’t know what to say. No one had ever given me such a thoughtful gift before. The only thing that came close was when my dad bought me my first revolver.
I felt tears welling up in my eyes, but I blinked them back. I stood up and went around the desk. Ms. Bjorn, not being fresh off the turnip truck, knew what was coming and she stood up to receive my hug.
“Thank you,” I said.
“I know you’re going to do great there,” she said. “You’re one of the most interesting and unique students I’ve ever met with.”
Most unique? I let it slide.
She pulled away from the hug and smiled at me.
“Even if half of the things you’ve told me have been bull,” she said.
My face must have fallen because she laughed. For a long time.
“Don’t worry about it, Courtney,” she said. “No one who comes in here ever tells me everything. God, I’d probably run screaming for the hills if they did. I figure that the important things will come out eventually.”
“Okay,” I said. She’d known all along that I was hiding stuff from her, and she hadn’t called me on it or let on she knew at all. Crazy. My opinion of her grew by an order of magnitude.
I went back around to the other side of the room and put the book in my backpack. Our time was just about up.
“I wrote my e-mail address on the inside front cover,” she said. “I’d love to hear how you make out.”
“I’ll write you,” I promised. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” she said. “It’s just an old book.”
“Not for that,” I said. “For everything. For caring.”
“I think a lot more people care than you know, Courtney,” she said. “Or are willing to acknowledge.”
We hugged one more time, and then I left her office for the last time.
Phil waited for me at my locker.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “Were you crying?”
“It’s Ms. Bjorn’s fault,” I said. “She waited until the last possible moment to reveal that she’s cool.”
“By making you cry?” he asked. “That is pretty cool.”
For someone who claimed not to understand how comedy worked, he was funny when he wanted to be. Not that I’d ever let him know I thought that.
“What do you want to do tonight?” Phil asked.
“Let’s get something to eat,” I said.
“Let me guess,” he said. “Bully Burger.”
“This may be the last time I ever see Chacho,” I said. I knew I’d been acting all confident about how the kegger was going to go, but I guess I still wanted to be prepared in case something went wrong.
“Okay,” Phil said. “As long as you let me buy. It’s been kind of weird having you pay for everything lately.”
“Don’t you like having a sugar mama?” I asked.
“Ugh. Please promise never to say that ever again.”
“No can do,” I said. “I never know when I’ll need to gross you out.”
We headed out of the school and to Phil’s car. God, I wouldn’t miss looking up at guard towers and seeing the sunlight glint off rifle scopes.
“Hey, can we stop at a hardware store on the way?” I asked.
“Sure,” Phil said. “What do you need there?”
“I’ve just been thinking of a little project,” I said.
He didn’t ask any more questions, and we climbed into the car and drove off through the security cordon.
The old dudes at the hardware store were super helpful. I love that about old guys, actually. What I could live without was their condescension. I’ve never been called “hon,” “sweetie,” and “little lady” so much in my whole life. But at least we walked out of there with everything I thought we’d need for my task.
After that, we headed to Bully Burger, which was a little disappointing. Mr. Washington, the owner, was there, which meant Chacho had to stand outside and do his guard thing. Mr. Washington was happy to see Phil and me, though. So happy that he bought both our dinners.
“I still get credit for wanting to pay for your meal,” Phil said.
“Whatever,” I said, “cheapskate.”
We only got to talk to Chacho for fifteen minutes when he took his state-mandated break. Well, less than that because it took him a while to get his armor off and use the bathroom.
He knew something was up, but he didn’t press it. He thanked us again for coming to his barbecue, and told us the next one was going to be on the Fourth of July.
“We’ll be done in time for you to go see some fireworks somewhere,” he said, “and whatever other trouble you kids get up to.” He even told Phil he ought to bring his aunt and uncle.
We talked about not much at all, but when we all stood up—me and Phil to leave, and Chacho to get back to work—I surprised him by giving him a huge hug.
“You’re making me worried,” he said. “Tell me you’re not going to do anything stupid any time soon.”
“Nothing more stupid than the usual,” I said.
“Oh, boy,” he said. “Well, be careful.”
“Always,” I said.
“And you take care of her,” he said to Phil.
Phil took my hand in his and squeezed it. “Always,” he said.
&nb
sp; He held my hand so rarely. I’d be damned if it was going to be the last time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I Guess It’s Time
I slept in late the next day. I figured that later I’d appreciate all the rest I could get.
I found Phil in his room, at his drawing board, of course. A large white envelope sat on the table next to him.
“What’s that?” I asked as I sat on the floor. I didn’t have the energy to climb up onto his bunk bed.
“What’s what?”
“Don’t,” I said. “You know what I mean.”
He finished up whatever he was drawing and then set his pencil down. He looked down at the envelope.
“That came today in the mail,” he said. “It’s from the Kubert school, the comics school.”
I sat up on the bed, the last bit of sleepiness chased away by excitement.
“What’s it say?” I asked.
“No idea.”
“What the hell does that mean?” I asked. “ ‘No idea.’ ”
“Just what I said.” He turned and looked at me. “I’m not going to open it until tomorrow. Whatever it says might not matter after tonight.”
“Oh, my God,” I said. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me!”
“I’m pretty sure I’m doing it to myself,” he said.
“You only think that because you’re so incredibly selfish,” I said.
I really didn’t understand what he was doing. If I got a letter like that from Columbia, no force on earth could stop me from opening it.
“What did your aunt and uncle say when it came?” I asked.
“They weren’t here,” he said. “They still aren’t. They went to the nursery and some other places, I think. They’ll be gone for hours.”
“Oh,” I said. “You know what we should do while they’re out?”
He turned his swivel chair around to face me and grinned.
“What?” he asked.
“We should work on the project,” I said.
“Oh,” he said. “That. Sure.”
“Why?” I asked innocently. “What were you thinking?”
“Funny.” He stood up and stretched. I heard his spine crack. “Go get dressed. I’ll get the tools.”
Zombified Page 27