Never Slow Dance with a Zombie

by E. Van Lowe

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  Chapter Nineteenth

  The next day, Sybil, Dirk, and I were cruising through the halls on our way to English.

  "Did you see that?" Sybil asked. "That zombie just winked at you."

  I swiveled my head slowly, so as not to call attention to myself. "That's not a zombie, Sybil. Look again. That's Baron Chomsky."

  She stared at the zombies slowly moving through. Baron was shambling along midpack, a playful smirk on his lips.

  "But... but... how is it possible?"

  "I suppose I should know since I am the zombie master."

  Her face turned several shades of red. "But... I'm so sor-- I thought..."

  "I know. Come on. I think he wants us to follow him." Baron was subtly giving us a hand signal behind his back.

  Our little pack veered off course, following him down to the basement. Slowly the halls emptied as zombie students entered their classrooms along with zombie teachers. After a short while

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  our two packs were the only ones in the corridor. I noticed Baron pointing at something.

  "What is it?" whispered Sybil.

  "Check out the zombie boy in front of him." The jock zombie in front of Baron had been given the world's biggest wedgie. The zombie's underwear had been hiked up practically to his chest.

  For as far back as I could remember, geek boys had always been the target of bigger boys for a wedgie. Baron was getting even for every geek in America.

  The jock zombie pack arrived at the weight room and entered while Baron hung back. As soon as they were all in, he pulled the door shut. Then, he turned to us as if he'd done something heroic, and struck one of his James Bond poses. "The name's Chomsky. Baron Chomsky."

  Despite his silly antics I caught myself smiling.

  "Dude! I told you not to bring them here!"

  "But we need their help."

  We were once again in Baron and Milton's basement hideout. Milton had hung a sign on the door that read the fortress of solitude. Could he get any geekier? Upon entering we found Milton cooking up a chemical concoction over a Bun-sen burner. Today's T-shirt featured a cow dressed as a gun-slinger ready to draw on an opponent, cowboy cow was written underneath the cartoon. When he noticed us, Milton stopped working, removed the beaker from the fire, and secreted it into a cabinet.

  "We don't need anybody's help, homie," he said, eyeing me with distrust. "I told you, I got this."

  "Well, alrighty then. See ya." I started from the room.

  "Wait, wait," Baron called.

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  "Look, guys, I don't need to go through this again. If Milton doesn't want us here, we don't want to be here. Now if you don't mind r we're off to English class."

  "Mmmaghhh!" Dirk emitted a hungry moan.

  "We are totally breached, homie!" Milton cried with alarm. He threw his hands into the air. "He's signaling the troops. Pretty soon we're gonna be swimming in zombies."

  I tossed a hunk of raw meat in Dirk's direction. He grabbed it mid-flight and gobbled it down. Satisfied for the moment, he stood patiently waiting for more.

  I turned to Milton. "He's not signaling anyone. He's just hungry, that's all."

  "See?" Baron said with a smile. "That's why we need her. She's the only one who can get close enough to them to get what we need."

  "What is it you need?" Sybil asked.

  "Ixnay on the DNA," Milton breathed through clenched teeth.

  "DNA?" asked Sybil.

  "Huh? That's not what I said."

  "Yes," replied Baron. "We need some zombie DNA. Preferably saliva and a hair sample."

  Milton threw up his hands. "We're dead."

  "Could you help us out?" Baron's hazel eyes looked into mine.

  How long have his eyes been hazel? I wondered. I looked away.

  "You'd be doing us a big favor," he added.

  "Okay. I can get you both hair and saliva. But what are you going to do for me?"

  Baron smiled. "What do you want, baby?"

  While I didn't want to participate in dezombifying my

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  classmates, recently I'd been cooking up an idea for the Holiday Pageant, and I was going to need lots of help to pull it off. "I need your help with the zombies for the Holiday Pageant."

  "You got it," Baron said quickly.

  Milton's eyes widened. "You can't put zombies in the Holiday Pageant."

  "Sure I can. I'm president of the Holiday Pageant Committee, and I want zombies," Of course I didn't want zombies, but I wasn't going to tell him that.

  He turned to Baron. "I told you she was the zombie master. Dude, you have been blinded by love."

  "I know," said Baron. "Ain't love grand?"

  Milton shrugged hopelessly. "We're dead."

  "While we're helping you, Milton and I can keep our eyes peeled for the person who's responsible for turning everyone into zombies."

  A look passed between Baron and Milton.

  I pulled out a few hunks of meat and dangled them in front of Dirk.

  "Mmmmph!" he moaned. His lips parted, and saliva drizzled down his chin, dripping to the floor.

  "Is that enough?" I asked as I tossed Dirk the meat.

  "More than enough," Baron said as Milton sucked up the spittle with an eyedropper.

  Sybil looked on with disgust. "Gross!"

  I turned to Baron. "Are you sure you guys know what you're doing?"

  "Why do you ask, because we're just goofy high school students?" Milton snarled.

  "Well..." I left the question hanging. I was certain the geeks could not create an antidote, which is why I was so willing to help. I'd get what I wanted, and they'd get... nothing. Perfect.

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  "Biology, chemistry, and a heavy dose of comic books," said Baron with a knowing smile. "You'd be surprised what a guy armed with that arsenal can do."

  "And let's not forget we've got a four-point-oh GPA on our side." Milton again, as if being smart was the answer to everything. The only thing being smart guaranteed you in high school was a seat at the geeks' table. But if they wanted to think they could help our zombie classmates, who was I to stop them?

  As Dirk was wolfing down the meat scraps I stepped behind him and yanked a clump of hair from his head. It came out easily. He didn't even flinch. When I handed the hair clump to Milton I noticed it was still attached to a tiny piece of scalp.

  "Ewww!" Sybil said, as she made gagging sounds.

  Milton gazed at the hair and saliva samples as if he'd just struck gold. "Now all we need are the samples from before he was a zombie."

  "Excuse me?" I gazed at Baron, wide-eyed.

  "0h , right," said Baron. "I forgot to mention that to successfully create the antidote we'll need hair and saliva samples from Dirk while he was still among the living."

  "Issue number two thirty-four of The Cosmic Avengers" Milton added.

  "Where in the world are we supposed to find something like that?" I asked.

  Baron was grinning at me. "You leave the rest to me. All you have to do from here on in is look beautiful. Like I said, the name's Chomsky... Baron Chomsky."

  Geek city... although I have to admit that when he did the British accent this time, it was actually kind of cute.

  That evening, after dinner, the four of us traipsed over to Dirk's house in the hopes of uncovering a hair and saliva

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  sample from before he'd become a zombie. I had no idea what was in store. Would we discover Dirk's parents and sister were now among the living dead and waiting to ambush us? I tried not to think about it. If I wanted the geeks' help with the Holiday Pageant I needed them to believe I was on their side.

  I'd never been to Dirk's home before, never met his parents, never been invited to his room. I tingled with anticipation. While the others had DNA samples on their minds, all I could think was that I was about to meet my boyfriend's parents for the first time. I had to make a good impression... which is why I brought flowers.

>   "What are those for?" asked Sybil.

  "Dirk's mom."

  "Suppose she's a zombie?"

  "I have a two-piece value meal in my purse."

  Sybil released a loud sigh. "When are you going to give up on the idea that a zombie could possibly be your boyfriend?"

  "On our wedding day, I suppose."

  She gave another loud sigh, this one filled with exasperation.

  "You look really cute in that hooded parka," Baron said, sidling up next to me.

  "Thanks." I caught myself smiling, but that was only because I appreciated the compliment.

  Sybil looked from Baron to me and moved away.

  "You nervous?" he asked.

  "No." That wasn't entirely true. But I wasn't going to tell him I was nervous about meeting my boyfriend's parents.

  "You're one heck of a girl, Margot." It sounded like a statement right out of the sixties, and yet coming from Baron it seemed just right. "I'm glad the zombies didn't get you." He was smiling at me again.

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  "Let's just get this over with," I said quickly. I needed to keep my mind clear for the operation.

  It had begun to snow, a light dusting. It was the first snow of the year. The streets were empty, and our feet made a soft crunching sound as we walked. Baron walked by my side. I'd always felt that the first, quiet moments of a snowfall were incredibly romantic. I'd often envisioned myself walking along, holding hands with the special boy in my life and feeling like we were the only people on the face of the Earth. Too bad I was walking with Baron instead of Dirk--although I have to admit, it didn't seem the nightmare I once might have thought.

  We arrived at Dirk's front door. Baron spoke. "Okay, now remember, if they're all zombies we represent a pack. If we stay together and do the zombie thing we're good." He smiled and gave me a wink. I made a prune face. "Then when they're not looking, one of us will slip away and go up to Dirk's room and search for his hairbrush and toothbrush."

  Milton pulled a pair of walkie-talkies from his backpack. "This is how the one who slips away will stay in touch with the group." He handed me a walkie-talkie and was about to pocket the other.

  "What are you doing? I'm the one who's gonna slip away," said Baron.

  "We didn't agree on that," said Milton.

  "We didn't have to agree. This is my caper."

  "They're my walkie-talkies," countered Milton.

  "I don't care whose walkie-talkies they are. I'm the one who's going to do the cloak-'n'-dagger stuff and that's final. Besides, you can't handle zombie combat. You're afraid of Margot."

  Milton's face reddened. "I'm not afraid of a girl!" he squawked.

  "You're afraid of your own shadow."

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  "I've got a four-point-oh GPA!"

  "That doesn't stop you from being a sissy!"

  "Is somebody out there?" came a female voice from the other side of the door. Before we knew it, the door was swinging open. I snagged the other walkie-talkie and handed it to Sybil. We hid them behind our backs just as the door opened on Dirk's mother.

  "Hi," she said cheerily. She had dark hair like Dirk and a pleasant face. A puzzled look came over her as she stared out at us--two geek guys and two girls who didn't look like cheerleaders. "Are you kids friends of Dirk's?"

  "Yes," snapped Milton, in an attempt to seize control of the moment.

  "Oh?" she replied, looking Milton up and down. "What team are you on?"

  "The chess team," he said, and shot us a look that implied he was brilliant.

  We all shot him the stink eye.

  "This is a joke, right? "Mrs. Conrad said, her voice laced with skepticism. "What do you kids want?" The door inched shut.

  "You caught us, Mrs. Conrad," I said, giving a quick but hearty laugh. I eased in front of Milton. ''Actually, we're Dirk's tutors. But we like to put you parents on from time to time. Gotcha!" I laughed some more. She stared at me cautiously for a moment, but eventually she smiled and pulled the door open wider.

  "I didn't think Dirk knew how to play chess. You kids had me going there," she said with a chuckle. "So, four tutors. I didn't realize he was doing that badly."

  "He's not. But since Dirk is a top athlete the school just wants to make sure he's getting all the help he needs." The words came tumbling out of me. I hoped they made sense.

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  "We need to tutor him right now," Milton said suddenly.

  Her eyes were on him again. "What subject do you tutor?"

  I held my breath and knew Baron and Sybil were doing the same.

  "Calculus?" It was more a question than a statement.

  Mrs. Conrad stared at him hard for a moment, and I knew she saw right through us and was about to slam the door in our faces. Then suddenly she burst into laughter. "You kids are such kidders. Come on in. Dirk hasn't had any visitors for such a long time. I'm glad to see he's getting help with his studies."

  And we were in.

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  Chapter Twenty

  Mrs. Conrad led us toward the rear of the house. We

  We passed the den, where we glimpsed Dirk's father sitting, watching TV. "Let's not disturb Mr. Conrad," she whispered as we passed. "Lately he's become very serious about his TV watching."

  We glanced in the room as we eased by the door. Mr. Conrad sat as still as stone, staring vacantly at the TV. I shot a quick look in Sybil's direction. I know we were thinking the same thing. Mr. Conrad was a member of the living dead. We continued down the hall.

  "Mmmmmph." A guttural groan from the den. We all froze.

  "Coming, dear. I think he's ready for his dinner," Mrs. Conrad whispered. "Dirk is in the basement. He has a weight room down there. That's where he spends all his time lately. You kids go on down. I have to see to Mr. Conrad."

  She pointed to the basement door, then scurried off to the kitchen.

  Her husband and son were both zombies, and she had no idea. I felt sorry for her. Overnight her world had changed,

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  and yet she ignored all the signs, clinging to how it once was, how she needed it to be. I'd heard about people like her, parents whose kids were killers and yet they blindly clung to the sweet image of their sons or daughters when they were innocent four-year-olds. Women whose husbands had lost all interest in the marriage and ignored them, yet the wives pretended that life was a bed of roses. Denial.

  "Gimme the walkie-talkie." Milton's words brought me back. He was holding his hand out to me.

  "No way!" I said. "I'm the one who's going up to Dirk's room." Can you blame me? I couldn't allow these strangers to pick over my boyfriend's things. Not before I had a chance to pick over them myself.

  "You can't. You're a girl. It's too dangerous. There could be other zombies up there," Milton said.

  "No problem. I'm the zombie master, right?"

  Baron chuckled. "That's my girl."

  Milton stared at me. Then he sighed. He could tell from the look on my face he wasn't going to win this one. "We need his hairbrush and his toothbrush," he said, clinging to authority.

  "Got it."

  "And if you get in any trouble call us."

  "I will."

  "So, I guess we're going down to the basement," Baron said. Milton eyed the basement door, fear dancing in his eyes.

  "You go. Somebody's gotta be the lookout," he said, his eyes never leaving the door. "Lookout's a dangerous job, but I'll do it. I'll wait here, and if any zombies attack, I'll handle them while you guys are having your look around."

  "That's a good idea," Baron said, allowing Milton to save face. He looked at me. "Be careful, beautiful. And give us a holler if anything goes wrong. Trouble is my middle name."

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  "Thanks," I said with a nervous smile. He squeezed my hand, and I felt myself blushing, which seemed strange. I attributed it to mixed-up emotions. Any girl would be a ball of raw nerves visiting her boyfriend's bedroom for the first time. I started upstairs.

  When I reached the sec
ond-floor landing my ears were assailed by the sound of thumping pop music. I looked down the hall. There were three doors. One had a sign that read keep out! this means you. The loud music was coming from behind this door. Dirk's sister's room, I thought. The next door had one of those do not disturb doorknob hangers you see on the doorknobs of hotel and motel rooms. It was flipped around to the maid service side. The parents' room no doubt. The doorknob hanger was to keep the kids from entering without knocking. Been there, done that. The third door had no markings, nothing to distinguish it from any other bedroom door in America. I knew it was Dirk's.

  I don't know what I expected to find in Dirk's room, yet still I was surprised by what was there--nothing much, really. 1 guess 1 envisioned his dresser and shelves overflowing with trophies and medals. After all, he was one of the best athletes in the state. I pictured his walls covered with posters of all his sports heroes. Wrong. The room was surprisingly free of ego-stroking paraphernalia. There was only one tiny trophy on his dresser. It was from Little League. Next to the trophy was a photograph of ten-year-old Dirk in the classic batter's pose. He stared into the camera with little-boy charm. He was sooo cute. I was proud he was my boyfriend.

  On his wall hung his science fair certificate along with two framed magazine photos of famous sports stars. One of John Elway and the other of Magic Johnson, but neither featured the sports stars in their uniforms. Instead both were wearing

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  business suits. The framed articles that accompanied the photos were about the athletes after their careers were over and they had become successful businessmen.

  A strange feeling washed over me. There was more to Dirk than just sports. Being here in his room allowed me to see into his soul. He played the role of jock in school for his friends and classmates. He played it well, but he'd actually given some thought to his life after his sports career was over. I felt vindicated for believing that Dirk wasn't a complete bubblehead. I envisioned us sitting on the edge of his bed and chatting about our futures. But that could never happen if he remained a zombie.