“Normally, I don't like women,” Flynn cocked his head to one side, “but this Max girl is something else. She's, dare I say, fierce?”
Garrett shook his head and smiled.
“And you my dear need to learn to embrace your inner queer,” Flynn chided Garrett. “Half the time by looking at you no one would know you were a power bottom.”
“Exactly,” Garrett said, growing more intense. “That's the point!”
“Take it as a compliment,” Flynn cooed. “I mean it with love my angel.
Garrett fumed. Here was the argument Travis had hoped for. Now how was he going to use the distraction to break free? He knew as Flynn turned back to him that he didn't have that kinda luck.
“Now then,” Flynn said taking the book back from Garrett, “let's just see what you were so eager to hide from us.”
Flynn started to open the book just as a deep voice from behind him rang out, stopping him dead in his tracks.
“What's going on in here?”
Travis looked up, relieved to see his other roommate, Parker--and a bit ashamed. It seemed like Parker was always bailing him out of trouble. At six foot two, Parker was literally covered in muscle from head to toe. A natural born athlete, he'd excelled at sports from an early age while making sure not to neglect his grades. He'd been recruited out of high school as a pitcher for the Rebels after leading his team to a division championship that had won them national attention. Neither Travis nor anyone else could ever figure out why he hadn't gone to a better school, somewhere like USC or Notre Dame. They all just assumed it was for the same reason that they were all stuck together--lack of resources. Still, with Parker' record, holding his opponents to a .141 hitting average with one of the lowest ERA's in the game, snatching up a better scholarship should have been the easiest thing in the world. It just didn't make sense, but no one had the courage to ask him. Even though no one had ever seen him get angry off the field, it was generally accepted that Parker would crush anyone who crossed him. What had started off as a promising season had quickly fallen apart as his arm and his confidence seemed to slide. Parker's heavy drinking began taking a toll on his game by the second year.
The devil-may-care smile he wore around campus didn't help much. Neither did his deeply sarcastic sense of humor and refusal to play by social norms. Renting a room at Thunderdome couldn't sit well with his jock buddies worried about him skipping practice to do bong rips. Parker didn't seem to care all that much what they thought. Instead of shunning Travis and his friends for being geeks, Parker looked after Travis like a kid brother, even taking an interest in his passion of the undead.
“Nothing,” said Garrett, staring at his own feet. Garrett practically worshiped Parker and his friends. Flynn accused him of having a crush on Parker, which he did, but Garrett just denied it. It was a source of constant tension between them.
Flynn, who had been slowly opening the hardcover, quickly snapped it shut again. He looked both terrified and turned on--at the same time--by Parker's arrival. Vance stared defiantly at Parker. They'd gotten into it recently over the age of some of Vance's guests. Parker told him he wasn't comfortable with high school girls drinking and making out in his living room. There had been an uneasy tension ever since.
“We're just playing around,” he spat out, anger visible in his eyes. “You know, as full grown adults. Nothing for you to get bent out of shape over, slugger.”
Parker let out a disapproving sigh and turned to face Vance full on.
“I'm not going to have this discussion again,” he said in an even tone. “I am not gonna be responsible for two underage girls getting date raped in my apartment. I don't regret for a minute letting you know how I felt. Are we clear on that?”
Vance didn't answer. He stared at Parker without blinking even though there was no chance in the world of Vance ever hitting him, and they both knew it. Vance was a loner, an outsider with very few real friends to come to his aid. Sure he knew tons of scummy people, bikers and ex-con's and bangers and general low life's, but he himself wasn't one of them. He wasn't affiliated with any one group, which left him vulnerable in situations like these.
“Dude,” Travis said at last, trying to cut the tension in the room. “It's not like he drove the girls home and told their parents. All he did was ask you to take your party elsewhere. I don't get why you're still pissed off about it man. Didn't you say you still hooked up with one of them? What more do you want?”
“Whatever,” Vance said through gritted teeth, his lips barely moving. He stepped forward and shoved past Parker, who relaxed enough to allow Vance to swing by him. Garrett sulked out of the room after Vance, looking grateful for an excuse to leave. His eyes never left the floor and he didn't dare say a word. Only Flynn was left now. He didn't look threatened at all by Parker. To the contrary, he looked positively intrigued, as if he couldn't wait to see what would happen next.
In all fairness, Flynn had come ‘out’ in high school after being pressured to play the Seven Minutes in Heaven game with the preacher's daughter, and failing to utilize his time wisely with her. Scorned and angry, Bethany had immediately spread rumors about his sexuality. Flynn was delighted not to have to bring it up himself and quickly confirmed what had been intended as disingenuous slander. To his sickened astonishment, the next year had been spent bearing every nasty insult he could imagine being hurled at him, getting into fights with guys he had crushes on, and surviving a vicious rumor that he had AIDS. In the end, Flynn found it had all made him stronger. He wasn't easily intimidated or surprised now and because of this he could make a fearless ally in a fight. He could also be downright annoying under the wrong circumstances--like that exact moment.
“I still need to turn in our Zombie Con registrations,” he said, never taking his eyes off Parker as he handed him the laptop. “I want a VIP badge not a general admission wrist band.”
“Give me the forms,” Travis replied. “I’ll make sure it happens. I promise.”
Flynn handed over the sheets of paper like a school girl with the hots handing over her phone number. Parker showed no emotion as he watched. Flynn waited a brief extra second to see if Parker would give him some kind of a sign but when it didn't come he turned away, looking slightly bemused, and sauntered out of the room, mumbling as he went.
“Your loss, sugar.” The words trailed off down the now bustling hallway. Travis got up and shut the door with a bang. Parker smirked.
“Can I see what all the fuss is about?”
Travis nodded, wanting to look away but unable to as Parker opened the book and the picture fell out onto his feet.
“Ah,” Parker said, passing the book back to Travis, then bending down and picking up the well worn photo of Gemma in a bikini. “You know, there's an old saying - women are the fucking devil and whiskey is cheap holy water.”
“What does that mean?” Travis bristled.
“Nothing I guess,” Parker said, looking irritated. “You ready for the party tonight? Labor day weekend is always the biggest blow-out of the year, and you know it. We've had pledges decorating the Slaughterhouse all week. You're gonna love it.”
“I'm not going.” Travis pouted. He got up and walked over to his computer, reviving it from it's slumber. Travis began entering a bunch of passwords with his back to Parker.
“I was just going to make one final booze run,” Parker said, ignoring his reply. “I could use a hand.”
“It's not gonna happen,” Travis said, carefully erasing his browser history one more time just in case.
“Gemma’s going to be there,” Parker said casually, as an afterthought. “She's bringing Candy and the psycho slut posse with her.”
“Nice try,” Travis smirked. “Her page says she's still in Santa Cruz with her dad.”
“Right.” Parker smiled, like a chess player moving his final pieces into position for the kill. “Except I just saw her on campus fifteen minutes ago. Did I mention that this year they’re thinking of adding a we
t t-shirt contest to the festivities?”
“Bullshit,” Travis said. “She would have updated her status. She's religious about social media. All her friends are too.”
“Right,” Parker said. “My bad. So when was the last update in Santa Cruz?”
Travis refreshed his browser. Her last update was over twenty hours ago. Parker couldn't have known that. He had to be right. Travis glared at Parker without responding for what seemed like a very long time. He had him. Checkmate.
“You coming then?”
“Fine,” Travis said, closing his laptop without powering down.
“Holt's picking us up in the parking lot,” Parker said.
“Why?”
“He borrowed my truck,” Parker said. “Who do you think supervises the pledges? This party is going to be epic and unforgettable. Don't you worry about the details.”
Travis grabbed his copy of Sarte and tucked Gemma back into it. He lifted his mattress and stuffed the laptop under it. They hurried out to the parking lot to find Holt sitting near the curb with the truck running and the doors open. Parker gave him a look and Holt hopped out of the driver's side, relinquishing it to him.
“Hey Holt,” Travis said.
“McAnus,” Holt replied, as if it were Travis's real first name. Holt held the door open for Travis.
“Thanks,” Travis replied, hopping in and ignoring the taunt. He was used to it. He'd learned long ago not to let small things get under his skin and ruin his mood. He was still excited about the possibility of seeing Gemma. He wasn't going to let Holt take his happiness away for sport.
Holt got back in and slammed the door as Parker fired up the engine on the truck.
“And away we go,” said Holt as they pulled off down the street.
They drove in silence all the way to the liquor store. Once inside, Travis helped Parker and Holt lug case after case of beer to the counter. Parker paid in cash, chatting up the cute cashier, while Travis and Holt hauled the booze out to the back of the truck. The girl, who looked barely old enough to be selling alcohol, didn't ask for ID. She never took her eyes off Parker, a finger curling absentmindedly in her hair as she hung on his every word. Parker knew he was lingering longer than necessary. Max had shaken his confidence, burrowing under his skin. He needed a little reassurance and this cute tramp was dying to give it to him. She wasted no time scribbling her name and number on the back of a pack of matches and slipping it into his palm before he left.
You still got it, Parker told himself as he slid the matches into his pocket without bothering to look at them. He noticed the spring returning to his step as he walked back to his truck.
On the ride back Travis tried to strike up conversation, but Holt turned on the radio to drown him out. The CD player was jammed so they were stuck with the radio, which seemed to only have news on.
“Authorities are reporting a sudden increase in emergency room visits with patients complaining of flu-like symptoms,” a voice informed them. “Doctors are urging residents of coastal areas to seek flu shots immediately while admitting that another epidemic might be unavoidable at this point.”
He hit the scan button.
“The President addressed the nation earlier this morning,” a female newscaster read.
“Already, teams of divers are scouring the wreckage for signs of survivors,” the President said over the sound of cameras clicking. “Make no mistake we will continue to search until every last crew member is accounted for and total public safety is assured. As to the reports of infected people washing up on shore and attacking folks, that's simply untrue. This tragedy is contained. You have my word. We're going to keep it that way, even if we have to stay out there another month.”
“Yeah right,” Holt chortled. “I'm sure he's working round the clock on it, in between playing golf and posing for photo op's.”
Parker hit the scan button again and again but all he found were news reports.
“It's on every station,” Parker said.
“This is an emergency broadcast,” a panicked sounding male voice announced. “The following is a partial list of the beach closures for the Southern California and Baja areas due to unusually strong tidal currents. Government agencies are asking residents to avoid the water since higher than normal rip tides are being reported up and down the beaches. Please listen closely.”
Parker shut the radio off.
“Damn government,” Holt mumbled. “So useless."
“I don't want to hear another word about the government, now or later,” Parker cautioned. “It's time to party.”
“Shit yeah,” Holt blurted out. He turned and stared at Travis. “You ready to get your little pecker wet Captain Algebra?”
“My friends call me Travis you know.” He could feel the blood in his face.
“Well I ain't your friend, McAnus. Isn't that what most of the cretins who live in Thunderdome call you?”
“You're hilarious,” Travis said, not making eye contact with him. He hated that nickname.
“I'm gonna teach you how to do shots tonight,” Holt said matter-of-factly. “I'll do my best to turn you back straight, cross my heart and hope to die. It'll be like one of your science experiments.”
Holt playfully punched Travis on the arm and let out a laugh. Travis cringed as slivers of pain shot through his arm and tried not to show just how much it hurt. It wasn't even dark yet but something told him it was going to be a very long night.
CHAPTER TEN
The sun was sinking beneath the horizon when Donovan came to check on Poppy again. She lay as still as death in the bed, her hair matted to her forehead by the sweat of her passing fever. He sat on the edge of the bed and stared at her. In the course of a few hours, she had gotten infinitely worse. Her skin was now cold and clammy. It had taken on an almost gray hue. Her eyes were rimmed a reddish pink and what looked like blood had crusted around her eyes and nostrils. A thin film of white saliva that resembled a light foam was leaking out of her open mouth. Despite her shallow breath, an unholy rattle coming from her chest filled the room every time she exhaled. He'd never seen anything like this. She was really sick.
You have to get her to the doctor, Donovan thought to himself. No matter how much she tries to fight you on it. You can’t just let her die.
The fear gripping his insides twisted even harder when he examined her bite wound. The broken skin around the wound was a sickly green and bright yellow puss formed around the edges, dribbling out on the sheets and leaving a brown stain that looked like it was eating right through the sheets. The wound was now almost wide open and he could see the meat of her shoulder, which was a deep crimson that turned black as it reached the middle. The wound itself smelled rancid.
Maybe the guy had rabies, he thought. He definitely looked sick. Why did I wait so long to get her help? Why did I think a nap was going to fix her?
A pang of guilt shot through him. He should have taken her to the hospital the minute she was bitten. He just never imagined that it would get this bad this fast. If only he’d left earlier, if only he’d convinced her not to go down to the water, none of this would have happened. Now he'd be lucky to get her to the hospital without her dying. If she died, it would be all his fault!
He took a deep breath and fought back tears and revulsion. He had to be strong, for Poppy's sake. He couldn't take no for an answer. He had to get her to the doctor now.
Donovan reached out and shook her gently, leaning in so she could hear him.
“Poppy? Wake up, baby.” She let out a deep moan that scared him more than anything had ever scared him in his life. He'd only heard sounds like that in horror movies. He jumped back like a little kid, his nerves rattled. A shiver ran through him, making the skin on his arms turn to goose bumps.
Stay strong, he reminded himself, his inner monologue kicking in. For Poppy’s sake.
He exhaled and tried to recompose himself. He was being ridiculous. Nerves. That's all it was. It had been a long day. His b
eautiful girlfriend needed help and he was going to make sure she got it. The shaking in his hands stopped and he leaned forward toward her once more.
“Come on, baby,” he started again. “We need to get you to the doctor.”
Donovan put his hand on both sides of her shoulders, turning her to him. The stench coming from her open mouth was horrendous, like rancid meat left out in the hot sun. He shook her just a little, hoping to bring her around.
Maybe I should run a bath for her, he thought to himself. That might help to revive her a little.
It was too late. There wasn't enough time to be screwing around. Her condition was clearly getting worse by the minute and giving her a hot bath in this state could take well over an hour. He leaned forward, holding his breath, until his face was inches from hers.
“Poppy!” Donovan shouted, hoping to bring her around. He wished he had smelling salts or an adrenaline shot like the one John Travolta used in Pulp Fiction, anything that might help revive her.
Her eyes flew open like two old shutters, revealing dead white pupils filmed over with a tiny living fungus that writhed across the surface of her corneas. Donovan's heart thrashed in his chest like a wild animal and he let go of her at once. Instead of falling back frail on the bed, she sat up at an odd, unnatural angle and stared at him. Images from The Exorcist flooded his mind as a paralyzing fear filled Donovan until he felt like he couldn't breathe. Whatever that thing was, it wasn't Poppy. He backed away slowly while she kept her eyes locked on him.
My God, Donovan thought. What is wrong with her?
Suddenly Poppy let out a loud snarl and lunged for him, knocking him to the ground. Donovan's screams of terror grew in intensity as she leaned over and ripped into his neck with her jagged gray teeth. Bright red blood spurted from the open wound, splashing the walls in thick spurts.
Oh my God! His mind raced. He could feel his heart beating incredibly fast now. She bit me! I’m bleeding! No!
In shock, Donovan put his hand on the wound, trying to stop the flow of blood as he gasped for air. It was no use. There was so much blood running over his hands, slick and sticky and warm. Bright red blood stained the front of Poppy as she looked at him with her dead eyes. His vision began to blur and he grew lightheaded from the blood loss, falling back onto the floor. Poppy leaned over him once more with another wild cry and began to rip strips of flesh out of his arm and shoulders as he slipped away into the cold darkness of death.
The Rising Dead Page 9