Zombies! (Episode 3): Love Bites

by Ivan Turner

  His conversation with Heron had been short. There'd been some kind of something at a hospital and they'd made him head of a zombie task force. Shawn had laughed when he'd said that. Another part of the façade. Zombie Task Force sounds like comic book ridiculousness to the average person but when you've actually seen one, fought one, it sounded like a dangerous freakin' job.

  "I'm going to get you out of here, Shawn," Heron had said.

  "Don't do me no favors," Shawn had replied, regretting it as he said it.

  Heron had scowled at that. "You're going to be doing all of the favors for me. And you're going to start with dropping that gangland attitude. Trust me, you don't pull it off nearly as well as you think. The next thing you're going to do is report to me anything that's going on between kids and zombies."

  "What the hell's that supposed to mean? What are kids gonna do with them?"

  The detective had shrugged. Shawn remembered his other two meetings with this particular cop. The first had been at the site of his arrest. The cop had been there with a partner, each very different from the other. This guy, Heron, was cool and confident. Later, when he'd come to see Shawn in jail, that confidence had gone. His partner had been bitten and his world had been shaken up around him. The confidence had come back during this third meeting, though. And it had brought an edge with it.

  "Kids do stupid things," he'd said. "Some teenaged idiot will think of something that will catch on with the rest of you teenaged idiots and I want to know about it."

  "So I'm like a narc?"

  He'd thought about that, made a show of weighing the simile in his head before answering. Then he'd nodded. "I've already arranged to have the charges against you suspended, which means you'd better hold up your end of the bargain. It'll take a few days for the paperwork to go through and then I'll get in touch."

  It had taken two and a half weeks to run the paperwork. Shawn had awakened every morning in jail wondering if that day was going to be the day they let him out. At least it wasn't like being in prison. He'd heard some pretty scary stories about prison. The lockup was a little easier. Hard criminals didn't stay there for long and the petty ones weren't really dangerous. He could tell that his stay was very extended. The guards there got tired of seeing his face and their abuse, albeit verbal, was starting to get nasty. He wondered just how long he'd had before it got even worse.

  But all of that was behind him now. Now he was free of jail, free of school, and free to see Marcus. He'd already decided that he'd do what Heron asked him to do. He did not want to go back to jail only to wind up in a federal prison. If he couldn't find some juicy information, he'd be the idiot that made up the fad. Whatever kept him a free man.

  Leaving the school, he took a different route to the trains. It was too late to avoid his friends, which was a necessity, but that wasn't the real issue. He was actually afraid to go past the spot where he'd met the zombie. Truth to tell, he was afraid just to walk down the street. As much as he'd hated the jail, he hadn't realized just how comforting those four walls had been for him. He looked at the faces of everyone he passed on the street. Some of them ignored him. Some looked back. None were dead. None were undead. But he had to make sure.

  The train station was even worse. The gloom inside the tunnels made it hard to see people who weren’t right up close. A zombie could be ten feet away and you would never know it until he had his teeth into you. Hell, in the New York City Subway System, you might not even notice the smell.

  The train came and he boarded it gladly. It was October but still warm and the air conditioner pumped cool air into the cars. They were well lit giving Shawn the opportunity to inspect every last face before relaxing against the door. If it had been rush hour, he wouldn't have been able to take the train. Bodies pushed up against bodies with no way of making absolutely sure that there were no zombies on the train. Rush hour was like a smorgasbord for those things. If one slipped onto a train between five and seven o'clock, there wouldn't be any people left by the time it got to the next stop.

  The stations went by in a blur. People read or listened to music or fiddled with their smart phones. A month ago, Shawn might have been one of those people. Now he just watched. Every time the train stopped and the three sets of doors opened, he checked out every face of every person. He did it without shame, almost with challenge. No one rose to the challenge. And no one was dead.

  In the city at last, his train hit the Wall Street station and Shawn exhaled as he disembarked and bolted for the stairs that led to the street. Even at a quarter to four in the afternoon, the Manhattan streets were busy. Especially downtown. The bus stops were filling up. People were going into and out of the train stations. Still wary of anything that might bite him, Shawn made his way to the building where Marcus worked. He still had a few minutes, so he parked himself outside the front entrance, leaning up against a sign post, and waited.

  Shortly after four, Marcus came out of the building. At the sight of him, Shawn felt his stomach flip. Marcus was tall and well built with a shaved scalp and cream colored skin. He was as sexy as a man could be and Shawn was pretty sure he was only gay when it came to Marcus. Before he'd met Marcus, his fascination had been with girls just like the rest of his friends. But there was just something about this man with his tailored suits and his West Indian accent that made poor young Shawn melt.

  Shawn knew better than to approach straight away. Like himself, Marcus had any number of reasons to keep their relationship secret. The homosexuality probably wasn't an issue. Marcus was a commanding individual who garnered respect well beyond his years. But he was dating a minor and that probably wouldn't sit well with whomever he worked for. He caught sight of Shawn as he exited the building. He was mingled with three others, the center of attention as usual. He flashed a bright white smile Shawn's way and kept on going. That was fine with Shawn. He'd been seen. Waiting for the small group to move out of view, Shawn detached himself from the signpost and made his way down the Wall Street alley.

  Behind one of the buildings where the pedestrian traffic was thinner, he found another place to wait. He didn't have to wait long. Marcus was smooth as silk. Even if he had plans with those other people, he could extricate himself without dealing offense or begging a question. As he approached Shawn, the two of them a tremendous contrast, his smile had been replaced by a frown, almost a pout. Shawn burst out laughing.

  "Don't you laugh at me, man," Marcus said, slapping him playfully in the side of the head. "I ain't seen you in weeks."

  "You'll never believe it," Shawn told him.

  "You got yourself a better boyfriend?"

  "Like there is such a thing."

  "Don't you forget it. I was going to give up on you."

  "I was in jail."

  Now it was Marcus' turn to laugh. When it came to Marcus, Shawn dropped the act. Marcus wasn't impressed by it and Shawn wasn't interested in anything that didn't impress Marcus. Under the façade, Marcus had found Shawn to be a sensitive, somewhat timid boy. Jail!

  They walked slowly towards Marcus' apartment. He lived in a downtown two bedroom that looked like it cost more than he had any right earning at his age. Of course, it went well with his suits and his jewelry and the restaurants they went to. Shawn had had to buy some new clothing just so he could be seen with Marcus. As they walked, desperate to be holding hands but both afraid of who they might run into, Shawn told him the whole story. When he was done, Marcus said nothing. He looked off into the distance, just walking, soaking it all in. Shawn was sure that Marcus thought him a liar. Even when they'd reached the apartment and rode the elevator up to the third floor, Marcus was still silent. Even as they went inside and sat on the sofa, Marcus had nothing to say. Even as he poured them both some liquor, Shawn's very watered down, he was still chewing on the whole story.

  Finally, he asked, "So this zombie thing is real?"

  "It's on the news," Shawn told him.

  "What does that mean? You can't believe everything you
see on TV."

  "My mom told me half the people in the city up and left."

  Marcus shrugged. "Not me. The office was closed for a week and I got to plan my future."

  "Well it’s real," Shawn said finally. "And I wouldn't go planning any futures right now."

  "Well then there's no point in us carrying on together," Marcus said sarcastically.

  Shawn harrumphed, a little put out by the other's attitude.

  "How'd you get out? If you really killed a woman, which I can't believe, how'd you get out after three weeks?"

  For a moment, Shawn hesitated. He didn't know whether or not to tell Marcus about his relationship with Detective Heron.

  Marcus smiled, sensing Shawn's hesitation. "What? Did you cut a deal?"

  "Sort of. The cop got the charges suspended in exchange for me being his informant."

  And just like that, Marcus' smile turned into a frown and his brow furrowed wrinkling the smooth skin of shiny head. "Suspended? What does that mean? When the policeman's done with you, they put you back in?"

  "Not exactly. I think it's more like, if I do a good job, they lose the evidence."

  "I don't like that," Marcus said sternly.

  "It's better than prison."

  "But not quite freedom. I think we should get you a lawyer."

  "I had a lawyer."

  "Ha! Some green public defender, I bet. I'll find you a professional."

  ""I can't afford that, Marcus."

  "I will pay for it."

  "No, Marcus," Shawn pleaded. "It'll be okay."

  Marcus frowned some more. "You want to be this policeman's bitch?"

  That stung. Badly. But Shawn was backed into a corner. "You can't get me a lawyer, Marcus. My parents will wonder where the money comes from and then I'll have to tell them."

  Marcus waved a hand. "You're old enough to make your own choices."

  "My dad will kick me to the curb."

  "You can stay here."

  That was tempting but impossible. "Marcus, I'm only seventeen. It would be worse for you than it would for me. Besides, I want to graduate and go to college. I got my whole life to love you but the next few years have to be about getting that life going."

  "Who's talking about futures now?" For a moment, he thought Marcus was going to cry. He may just have been, but he choked it down. Then he opened his arms and Shawn moved in for the embrace he'd been craving for so many weeks.

  ***

  IT was getting late and Shawn knew he should be leaving. But it had been too long since he'd spent any time with Marcus. Still, with his recent troubles, his parents were ever vigilant about having him home on time.

  "Just call and ask," Marcus asked. If he was annoyed that his boyfriend had to ask permission to stay out on a Friday night, he didn’t show it.

  "What'll I tell them?" Shawn asked. "They know all of my friends and they're either going to check up on me or they're gonna tell me I shouldn't be hanging out with so and so."

  Marcus took the cordless phone off of its cradle and shrugged. "You'll think of something."

  Shawn took the phone and dialed. He waited three rings before his mom answered in a curious voice. Of course, the number of the caller id would be unknown to her, as would the name.

  "It's me, Ma," he said.

  "Oh," she said relieved, then suspiciously, "Where are you?"

  "I'm at a friend's house. In the city."

  Marcus nodded his approval.

  "What friend? I know all your friends."

  "You don't know this one. His name's Marcus."

  "You're coming home now, right?"

  Shawn shrugged. "I was thinking I'd stay. We're just hanging out and Marcus said I could stay over."

  "He did, huh? Does his mom know you were in jail for killing two people?"

  He breathed out his annoyance. "They weren't people, Ma."

  "Whatever. You get home now."

  "Ma, I just want to hang out like a regular kid." That was a tough play, but Shawn was desperate. He was hardly a regular kid, having been arrested for murder and wanting to stay overnight with his twenty three year old boyfriend. But his mom had a big heart and every once in a while it was important to take advantage of her sympathies. These days she walked a fine line between hating him and feeling pity for him. He hoped she was on the right side of that line at that moment.

  When she paused, he thought he might have won. "You're not taking drugs are you?"

  "Ma, I don't do that stuff. I ain't changed who I am."

  "So you were always a murderer?"

  "They was zombies!" He could feel his command of English lapsing. Whenever challenged, that front slipped into place. Even with his mother. He worked hard to try and wrest control.

  His mother let out a snort of disbelief. "Zombies! What does your friend Marcus think?"

  He loves me, thought Shawn. "He thinks enough of me to invite me to stay at his house and I'm gonna stay."

  Over the phone, he could hear her grinding her teeth. That meant she thought letting him stay was the right thing to do but she wasn't about to stand for him giving the orders.

  "Look, Ma," he said. "I'm sorry, okay? I need you to cut me some slack. Please?"

  "Okay," she nodded. "I'll trust you. But if you end up in prison again, you're on your own."

  Not likely, he thought. "Thanks, Ma. Really."

  "Take care of yourself, Shawn. You call me in the morning."

  He was smiling from ear to ear. "You got it, Ma. I'll do it for sure."

  As he hung up the phone, Marcus asked, "Chinese or Italian?"

  ***

  PATRICK Cho smiled and nodded at Marcus as he came in and began perusing a menu. Marcus was a regular at Best Chinese where Patrick worked for his mother and father. Though Patrick had been living in the United States for fifteen of his seventeen years and was fluent in English and mostly without accent, he rarely spoke. A man like Marcus always intimidated him. Patrick was larger than most of his peers, with a round face and large lips. He lacked a chin, which gave him kind of a goofy look. He did his job in loose fitting jeans and a stained white apron while men like Marcus entered the place in their business clothes always looking and smelling fresh even on a Friday evening. While Patrick was a complete fob around women, he was sure that Marcus had the ladies lining up at his doorstep.

  When Marcus put the menu on the table, Patrick looked it over (dinner for two) and turned it in to his dad, who did the cooking. He rang up the order and Marcus covered it with his American Express card. Then he sat down to wait.

  Patrick watched him without trying to be too conspicuous. It was a pastime of his to simply observe the people around him. He had aspirations on being a writer but didn't think it would ever materialize. It was his unique talent to strip a person down to his or her basics just by observation. He could then parlay that information into a poem or an essay. They were good but there wasn't really a market for fictional character studies of real people.

  A tiny beeping brought him out of his reverie and he watched as Marcus pulled a small phone out of his pocket, looked at the number, and answered it.