“You gonna crash with your brother?” Felicity asked Benji.
“He’s not my real brother,” Benji said.
Thanks kid, I thought. Throw me under the bus to the hot celebrity chick.
“Okay then,” she said with a smirk. “How about your own room?”
“Thanks again,” I said, making eye contact with Felicity. She held it for a second too long then pulled away.
“It’s not a problem,” she countered. “I’ll get him set up. Go to sleep.”
“Promise me you’ll wake me up right away if anything happens,” I said fiercely.
“I will,” she replied casually. “Don’t worry. Like I said, you’re the first people to set foot on the property since the zombie outbreak—living or dead. We’re safe here.”
Even though I had no way of verifying her words, they made me feel better. I shut and locked the door.
I checked the closets and under the bed, making sure they were all clear. I checked the bedroom window. It was high. If someone wanted to get in that way they’d have to break it and climb in at chest height. I’d have plenty of time to defend myself.
I locked the window carefully then set my sword by the side of the bed. After what happened in New Lompoc, I wanted it within easy reaching distance. We really were lucky to get out of that place in one piece.
Far luckier than the twins, I dismally remembered.
I sat on the bed and looked around the room. It was quiet. Almost too quiet. I was overly tired and anxious and excited by everything that had happened. The last thing I remembered thinking was that I didn’t know if I’d be able to fall asleep. I woke up briefly some time later, on top of the bed in my clothes, fingers touching my katana. I took my shirt off, rolled over, and fell back asleep. If I dreamed at all, I don’t remember it.
I woke up a few hours later, feeling calm and refreshed. It was still dead quiet outside. I put my shirt back on, grabbed my blade, and opened the door. The sun hadn’t quite gone down yet but the light coming down the hallway had that golden quality to it that suggested we weren’t far from night. I could hear the sound of music and voices mixed with laughing. I walked out, rubbing my eyes.
“Hey, sleepy head,” Felicity greeted me. She seemed in a much better mood. Light danced in her sea green eyes as she stared at me.
Maybe she got some sleep too, I thought as she asked me how I slept.
“Like the dead,” I said.
“That’s either the best joke in the world or the worst pun,” said a guy’s voice to my left. I turned to see Jackson Everrest standing and holding a toy guitar in his hands, smiling amicably. He didn’t look sick at all. Benji was next to him, smiling. It took me a second to realize they were playing Guitar Hero, one of my favorite video games of all time. Jackson was actually a character in one of the latest versions. If you got to the highest level you had to battle him to complete the stage.
“Thanks for letting us crash here,” I said, trying to play it cool.
“Well it’s not like I had a choice, did I?” For a moment I thought he might be mad that we had let ourselves in after all. “We the living have to stick together now. No more ‘mine and yours.’ We have to work together if we’re going to survive.”
I let out a huge sigh of relief at the words. He really is cool, I thought. Imagine that.
“You actually play Guitar Hero?” I asked, changing the subject.
“I love this game,” Jackson said. “Have you ever played it?”
“I have,” I said, laconically.
“Are you any good?”
“I’ve cleared the game once before,” I said, trying to sound modest. You don’t just brag about your fake guitar skills to one of the world’s most legendary guitar soloists of all time. “I assume you shred at it.”
“Believe it or not I’m just mediocre at the game,” Jackson said. “I’ve talked to other musicians who have the same problem. Playing buttons is totally different than playing strings. I do okay though. Benji here has been giving me a run for my money. Wanna give it a go?”
No way, I thought. One of Rolling Stone’s top ten guitarists of all time just challenged me to a game of Guitar Hero in his living room. I can’t believe this is happening!
“Sure.” I shrugged, trying to keep my cool even though my heart was racing in my chest harder than if a hundred zombies were chasing me. “I’ll give it a shot.”
Benji gave me his fake guitar controller and I slid the strap over my neck. They’d already unlocked most of the levels so we selected intermediate play and I started playing some Slipknot. Benji’s character had been the girl with the pigtails in the pink skirt. I didn’t bother to change it, odd as it was. Jackson had selected himself.
Fitting enough, I thought as I made short work of the song, racking up extra points with the glowing blue notes and the whammy bar.
Jackson had a little more trouble than I expected. He missed a bunch of notes in a row. Then again he had been sick, according to Felicity.
When we polished off Slipknot, we played some Metallica and then Black Sabbath. At that point I could see that it wasn’t just feeling under the weather that was holding Jackson back. He had serious timing issues hitting the buttons. What was going on?
I can’t believe I’m beating Jackson at Guitar Hero, I thought. This just doesn’t seem possible. I tried not to focus on it too much for fear it would distract me. I could see him getting frustrated that he wasn’t doing better at the game. He tried to hide it, like when he missed a note he’d turn and play it off like he was distracted, or start telling us a story from when he was on tour.
“Ozzy’s tour manager worked with us on the Australian leg of our last world tour,” he said, when he missed a bunch of notes in a row on Paranoid. “Great guy. Real solid.”
We reached the battle stage of the rock legends version. That meant we had to play against the computer’s choice for us to advance to the last level of the game and win. The guitarists included Dave Navarro, Joe Satriani, Jimmy Hendrix, Slash, Carlos Santana, Jimmy Page, Jack White, and last but not least, Jackson Everrest. I was randomly matched up against Hendrix. Luckily I had played against Hendrix before. I matched him note for note on Purple Haze for the first part of the song and did a decent job keeping up the rest of the way through. It was enough to advance, but just barely.
“Not bad,” Jackson complimented me. “If they ever figure out how to turn these things into real instruments you’ll have a smashing future.”
“Thanks,” I said, setting the plastic guitar down and taking a seat on the couch next to Benji.
I hadn’t noticed while I was playing, but Felicity had moved closer and was watching us both intently. I turned to look directly at her and she looked away toward Jackson, trying to pretend she hadn’t been looking. Her nacre skin seemed so soft and white, like light from the moon was glowing off her. Her hair fell in bright red vibrant curls against her neck, standing out in shocking contrast. I got the feeling she could sense I was staring at her so I looked away quickly, trying to pretend I was yawning.
The computer began to shuffle through the remaining guitarists, looking for a match for Jackson. All the characters whooshed past at once until one was left—Jackson Everrest.
“This is like a nightmare,” the real Jax said. “Like an evil computer version of myself come to life to torment me. Wish me luck.”
“Good luck!” Benji practically shouted.
Even though it was one of his biggest hits, My Soul to Take, Jackson seemed to have trouble with it from the start. He needed to switch fingers to hit the lower keys and his timing was really off. He quickly grew frustrated as his artificial avatar blazed through the notes effortlessly while he kept getting loud reverb clangs from hitting the plastic keys too late. He cursed and spat on his own floor. No one said anything. During the long guitar solo he stopped and took the controller off altogether, giving up. I looked over at Benji who could barely hold in his surprise.
“It’s a
stupid game anyway,” Jackson vented in frustration. “I don’t know why I keep messing with it.”
The screen flashed the words YOU LOSE as the avatar Jackson flicked his pick at us and threw up a devil finger salute.
“Jackson,” Felicity said calmly, “it’s okay. It’s just a game.”
“I know,” he said, reaching over and flicking on his guitar amp. He picked up a black Les Paul from the stands near the console and plugged it in. He put his foot on the amp and rested the bottom of the guitar on the top of his thigh. “Can a game teach you this?”
Jackson ripped into a guitar solo filled with racing notes and mind melting progressions. Benji’s jaw literally fell wide open. I’m pretty sure mine did too. It was far beyond anything we could possibly have imagined. Jackson looked up at us and laughed out loud.
“You really are fans?” A satisfied smile spread across his face before we could nod in reply.
Was Jackson really begging for our attention by putting on a private show for us in his living room? I didn’t have to ask because before we could answer him he began laying into the instrument again, giving it all he had. The sounds coming out of it were unreal and we were transported into his world. His hands moved so fast, they almost seemed to blur. He was like a guitar god! He finished and Benji and I wildly began to applaud him. The look on his face said it all. His ego was just getting a taste of what it really wanted.
“You want more?”
Benji practically leaped to his feet in response. I turned to look at Felicity. She looked slightly annoyed that Jackson was acting up for attention. I shot her a look that was somewhere between ‘I told you so’ and ‘what can you do?’ She let out a heavy sigh, like the whole weight of the world was on her shoulders. This wasn’t just her being upset that Jax was showing off. This was something deeper, something not visible on the surface.
“That was amazing,” I said, standing up.
Jackson stopped playing mid-song and turned to me. Benji just stared with his mouth hanging open like a prize bass. A quick glance down told me that Felicity had to stifle back a laugh with the back of her hand. I had just been shown what Jax could really do.
“I hope you don’t mind me interrupting, but I wanted to rinse off and get cleaned up before dark. The sun is almost all the way down and I heard you’re not partial to indoor lighting. A wise decision, I might add, but one that leaves me pressed for time.”
“Of course,” Jackson said, setting his guitar down. Benji shot me an angry look for interrupting our personal once-in-a-lifetime concert. “The guest bathroom is three doors down the hallway on the right. There should still be towels in there. I haven’t had any company since the maid was last here, other than the lovely Felicity Jane.”
“Awesome,” I said, walking past him and down the hallway.
I turned on the water and was splashing my face when there was a knock on the door. I opened it to find Felicity.
“Here,” she said, handing me a thick, brown candle and a book of matches. “Just in case it gets too dark to see.”
“Thanks,” I said. She stood there a minute, like she had something else to say. She bit her lip. I was sure she was going to share a secret with me. I waited, but after she still didn’t say anything, I started getting annoyed.
“What?”
“Nothing,” she muttered. She turned and walked away. I shut and locked the door.
“Geez,” I griped out loud to myself. “What’s her problem?”
I lit the candle and shook out the match. The smell of sulfur filled the small room, making my eyes water. I blew my nose on some tissue then went to throw it away and stopped dead in my tracks. Sitting in the wastebasket was a bunch of hypodermic needles.
I leaned in to get a closer look. There were wads of cotton with what looked like dried blood on them. The realization hit me all at once—Jackson was a drug addict! That’s why he was sick. He was trying to get off heroin. Was that why Felicity was here?
I decided not to mention it to Benji. The last thing he needed to worry about was his idol being a junkie. I’d only seen stuff like this on television, but I’d heard that dope fiends were capable of anything when they were going through withdrawal.
It might not be safe to stay here long, I thought. Let’s just hope he has enough stuff to keep him high as a kite until tomorrow. We’ll have to leave soon for sure.
Chapter Fifteen
I ran a cool bath and used a hand towel to sponge away the chlorine from the pool. It wasn’t nearly as good as the hot shower I’d taken in New Lompoc, but it wasn’t as bad as I thought it might be either. For the moment we seemed to be safe. I knew that it could change at any minute, but I pushed the thought out of my mind. The recent madness and chaos and insanity taught me that it was more important than ever to hold on to the good times. You never knew how long they were going to last.
When I got back out to the kitchen, everyone was sitting around the kitchen table eating by candle light. They’d covered the windows with black sheets to cut down on the amount of light they put off.
That may be the only reason they haven’t been attacked up here yet, I thought.
Benji had opened up a can of Chef Boyardee beef ravioli and was eating right out of it with a fork. He looked more content than I had ever seen him. Jackson was picking at a bag of freeze dried ice cream, the kind we were told astronauts ate when we were little kids. I knew now why Jax wouldn’t be eating. The drugs were all he cared about. That’s how he stayed so skinny. Felicity had what looked like a plate of steaming beef fajitas with rice and beans.
“I thought you said you didn’t have gas or electricity.” I said. “How did you cook that meal?”
Felicity looked up at me and smiled.
“It’s from the food rations kit,” she explained. “Cooks in the bag, ready in under five minutes.”
“You’re kidding?” I said. “That’s amazing. It looks like real food.”
“Survival in style,” she said. “Plus all I have to do is throw out the bag when I’m done.”
“Too bad it tastes like low end fast food,” Jackson said, still picking at the chalky pink block in front of him. The fire he’d had in him earlier was steadily going out. Now he looked pale and sickly. He’d used up all his energy trying to impress us.
“Really?” I said, a grumble rolling through my stomach as if on cue. “I’d kill for some Carl’s Jr right about now.” Felicity made a face I couldn’t decipher.
“Felicity, would you please be so kind as to make our guest one of our finest meals-in-a-bag, my love?”
“I can make it,” I said. “You enjoy your food. I’m sure I can figure it out.”
Jackson dismissed me casually with a wave of his hand. I found the bags of ready-to-eat meals on the counter. They had every kind of meal I could imagine, from sweet and sour pork to beef stroganoff to lasagna. I grabbed a bag that read Jamaican Chicken and flipped it over to read the directions. It said to pour water into the top portion, seal, then pull a cord on the side and it cooked right in the bag. I took some bottled Voss off the counter and got it to work.
“There is still some soda in the fridge,” Felicity said.
“Thanks,” I said, opening the door and pulling out a two liter of Coke. Nothing in the fridge was cold.
I guess the video game console is more important than the food, I thought sarcastically. Why do they even bother to keep this stuff in the fridge if they aren’t going to keep it cool?
I grabbed my meal bag. It was now piping hot, so I pulled the top open and steam poured out along with the smell of delicious chicken.
“Grab it from the bottom,” she suggested.
It was cooler down there. I took the whole bag and my cola to the table and sat down next to Jax. I was so hungry that I dug right into my meal, not caring if I burned my tongue. The last thing we’d had to eat was the fruit cocktail back at the high school and I’d thrown up half of that.
“How is it?” Jackson asked.
“Surprisingly good for food from a bag,” I said in between bites. I was suddenly overcome with hunger. “You’re not going to eat?”
“Naw,” he said, flicking his freeze dried ice cream away from him. “I played in Jamaica once. Big benefit in Trenchtown. Home of Bob Marley and the Wailers.”
“Did you get to meet Bob Marley?” Benji asked. Felicity giggled. Jackson smiled and turned to him.
“I wish,” he said good-naturedly. “Bob Marley died before I was born.”
“Oh,” said Benji, looking embarrassed.
“You know what?” Jackson continued. “You can still feel his spirit when you walk through the streets there. He stood for love and peace and unity through music and that message is still alive today. So in a way, you can say he lives on and I did meet him there.”
Benji blushed. He had bags under his eyes. He looked almost as exhausted as Jackson.
“How long did you sleep this afternoon?” I asked.
“He didn’t,” Felicity said. “He followed me around asking questions about my career as a child actress, and whether or not I had a twin sister for when I shot Double Trouble in Acapulco like he read on some fan site. He’s got quite an active imagination.”
“How do you know if you don’t ask?” Benji looked worn out. He was getting fussy at being teased. His battery was going down. It had been a long day by any standards.
“After that, Jackson was up and feeling better,” Felicity said.
“That’s when he challenged me to a guitar battle,” Jackson said. He was starting to look green around the gills. If I hadn’t seen his trash in the bathroom I might have asked to inspect him for bite marks. “He’s got the heart of a rock star.”
Let’s just hope he never inherits any other rock star organs, I thought.
“He’s been up for almost two days now.” I gave him a worried look. “I think it’s time to get some rest. We wanna get back out on the road tomorrow.”
I expected Benji to put up a fight at the suggestion of going to bed but instead he looked relieved, as if he had been waiting for someone to order him around.
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