“Want to unlock it, dude?” he asked.
Ken looked like he was going to put up an argument, then he took the keys and got out of the truck. His movements were quick and precise. He opened the gate for the truck and then swung it shut again as soon as we’d passed through. Brandon stopped and let him climb in again.
“Thanks, man,” Brandon told him as he took the keys from him.
“De nada,” Ken said. I rolled my eyes.
We drove on for another fifteen minutes down this one-lane dirt road. The light barely reached us through the thick forest. I started to creep myself out thinking about what could be out there. I mean, you could only see a few feet past the tree line. People are always talking about how zombies don’t come into Salem anymore because they’re all hiding out in the woods now.
As soon as we got to the reservoir itself, it was different. A clearing surrounded the water, and the sun beat down on the cabin there. Well, Brandon called it a cabin. When I heard that word, I thought of something out of a Jack London story—something big enough for maybe two people and held together with bailing wire and prayers. This was a pretty massive building with a porch and everything. Even though it was built out of logs, I don’t know if “cabin” was the right term for it.
“Your dad owns this?” I asked.
Brandon looked a little sheepish. “Yeah, this and the property for a few acres on either side.”
“Is your dad a bank robber?” I asked. Or a drug dealer, I thought.
Brandon laughed and threw open the door to climb out. “Nope. He was a session musician in LA before the dead came back. He wrote some hit songs for other musicians. That’s what paid for all of this.”
I sort of regretted giving up on piano lessons when I was twelve.
We unloaded the truck—a cooler, blankets and towels, and some lawn chairs. Brandon and Ken grabbed the shotguns out of the rack and slung them over their shoulders. Brandon took the Benelli. The way they handled the guns, I was glad I’d brought my pistol in my purse. If there was trouble, I wouldn’t want to rely on those two amateurs to save me.
We walked down to the shore, which was just a few yards past the house. The sun beat directly on us here, and I started to feel hot. I was going to need to get these leggings off soon. We arranged the chairs and blankets and sat down. Brandon headed back to the house to start some music—his dad had outdoor speakers wired up. Ken went with him. They left the double-barrel with us girls.
After they were gone, Crystal smiled at me and asked, “So, are you and Brandon a thing?”
“I don’t think so,” I said, and then thought about it a moment. We weren’t. I turned back to her. “Mind if we don’t talk about it?”
“God, no,” she said. “Boy talk is boring. It’s just that sometimes I feel, you know . . .”
“Obligated?”
She nodded.
“Sure.” I said.
Then she asked about my folks and got embarrassed when she remembered that my mom wasn’t on the scene. I assured her it was okay. I was about to ask about her parents, when the music started up. It was something funky, maybe George Clinton. It didn’t matter, really; it was fun.
The boys came out of the house then, each carrying a bottle and some plastic tumblers. Uh-oh. Brandon grinned as he brandished his bottle. “Rum,” he said, “and Ken has vodka. I don’t think my dad’ll miss them.” Ken held up his bottle. Apparently, smiling was too pedestrian for him.
“There’s juice in the cooler,” Brandon said, “and beer, too.”
I decided to go with OJ and vodka, the drink of choice for juvenile delinquents everywhere. After everyone got their drinks—Crystal just took juice I noticed—we sat around and sunned ourselves and talked about stuff other than football. Grades and after-school jobs (everyone but Brandon had one and, no, I didn’t mention my second job); music and movies; Ken talked about a video series he wanted to write, direct, and star in, which he would post to YouTube and that I thought sounded like it would suck ass. I didn’t say that.
I made the boys turn around so I could take off my shorts and strip off my leggings—it was way too hot now for that sort of nonsense. I asked if anyone wanted to get in the water, and Crystal was the only one who seemed interested, so I grabbed her hand and dragged her down the shore and into the reservoir. Before we got in, Crystal stripped off her capris to reveal a black bikini bottom. I dived into the water. I screamed, it was so cold at first. It felt like all the air was crushed out of my chest for a second by the frigid water. Then I got used to it and it felt really nice. I was glad the sun was so hot that day—it would make climbing out again bearable. I floated on my back while Crystal swam lazy circles around me and we talked some more. I guess the boys couldn’t resist our wet siren call, and they came running into the water. They acted like boys for a while and shouted and splashed and drew attention to themselves. When Crystal and I failed to react, they calmed down and waded or swam or floated. It became really quiet, and, as I floated on my back in the water, my ears below the water line, I heard my heart beating. I timed my breath with my heartbeats and stared up into the sky. Wispy cumulus clouds hung up there, and I fought against the feeling that I was falling up into the sky.
The others got out of the reservoir and mixed new drinks. I followed and had more OJ and vodka. After being in the sun and water, the drink hit me kind of hard. I definitely felt light-headed. Great. A joke came to mind: What’s the cheerleader mating call? I’m so drunk! Ooh, I was going to have to apologize to Crystal for even thinking that. She was so nice—I shouldn’t have thought bad things about her chosen lifestyle.
And then I was struck by a sudden need to pee.
“Are there toilets in that rustic, pioneer structure?” I asked Brandon, and I tried to enunciate as carefully as possible so no one would suspect I was feeling tipsy.
Brandon flashed me a weird grin and then he nodded. “There are toilets, yep,” he said. “They flush and everything. Go inside, down the hall, and it’s on your right.”
I stood up and halted my swaying and headed off toward the cabin.
Crystal called out behind me. “I’ll come with you.” I almost asked why, but dropped it. I just hoped she wouldn’t want to come in with me while I peed. We left the boys behind making jokes about how women were incapable of going to the bathrooms by themselves. Very funny material circa 1960.
The rough grain of the wooden porch felt good beneath my feet. Inside the cabin the air was noticeably cooler. Little goose bumps raised on my arms. It made my head feel better. The interior of the cabin was beautiful. It was mostly an open space with a loft above the living area. The kitchen sat in the far corner, and a big dining room table—that looked like it was carved out of a single gigantic slab of wood—added to the feeling that I didn’t belong there. Everything was either wood or stone. There were lots of rugs and cushy furniture so it didn’t feel cold. This place is what Land’s End catalogs were trying to look like. And failing.
“You’ve never been out here?” Crystal asked. My awe must have been written all over my face. I needed to rein that in.
“Yeah,” I told her. “You have?”
“Sure,” she said. “Brandon’s had parties out here before. His dad’s cool with it. The bathroom’s down there.” She pointed down the hallway.
“Thanks,” I said, and scooted away.
The bathroom was nice, but nothing like the rest of the house. Functional. I closed the door and as I turned toward the mirror, I caught a look at myself. All of my carefully applied makeup—my mascara and eyeliner—had spread out so I looked like the world’s biggest, saddest raccoon. I burst out laughing and then immediately tried to stifle it.
A second later, Crystal knocked on the door and asked if I was okay. She said it sounded like I’d screamed. Doing my best to hold back new peals of laughter, I told her I was fine. I got it under control and sat on the toilet and pissed for about an hour. I needed to cut back on the alcohol.
; I finished up and washed my hands and then scrubbed my face until I couldn’t take it anymore. My skin was all pink when I was done, but that was better than what it looked like before. When I left the bathroom, I found Crystal looking at a shelf that practically groaned under the weight of all the books on it.
“I love looking at all of Mr. Ikaros’s books whenever I’m out here,” she said without looking up at me, then she turned and smiled. She was really pretty when she smiled. I mean, she was always pretty. Especially when she smiled. When I didn’t say anything, she turned back to the books. “He has a ton of books by journalists. All the President’s Men, Black Hawk Down.”
She took a book down from the shelf. “Wow,” she said, “this one is brand new. The Black Flower; it’s a book about that zombie drug, Vitamin Z. I can’t believe he’s already got it out here.”
“Is that something you’re interested in?”
“Journalism?” she asked. “Oh, yeah.”
“That’s great,” I said. I’d meant was she interested in Vitamin Z, and I was relieved to hear that she wasn’t.
“Yeah, I want to study it when I get to college.” She put the book back on the shelf and stood up. “How about you?”
“Me?” I asked.
“In college,” she said. “What do you want to do?”
“Oh, epidemiology,” I said. We started to head back outside. “You know, studying how diseases spread. Why aren’t you on the school’s newspaper?” I asked her.
“I had some core classes I needed to get out of the way this year,” she said, “you know, before I send off college applications. I figured I’d join the paper next year—if I can get in. Why do you want to study diseases?”
We were out on the porch and I was about to tell Crystal the broad outlines of my master plan. She stopped and looked off toward the shore.
“Where are the boys?” she asked.
I looked to where we’d been sunning ourselves. Brandon and Ken were nowhere to be seen. I scanned the shoreline and still didn’t see them. Next to me, Crystal shivered and hugged herself.
“I bet they’re just being dicks,” she said, “trying to scare us or whatever?”
I might have agreed with her, but I noticed that the double-barreled shotgun was gone. This was officially bad news.
“I’m going to go back into the house and lock the doors until they come back,” Crystal said, and she started to do just that.
“I’ll be right behind you. First, I have to get something out of my bag,” I told her.
“No, wait,” she said, “don’t go. What the hell do you need out of your bag?” Her eyes were big and her lips quivered a little. I tried not to feel as scared as she looked.
“I have a gun in there.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Okay,” she said, like I needed her permission. “But I’m going down with you. No way do I want to be alone.”
I understood, but didn’t say anything. I headed down the path toward my bag. Crystal followed right behind. Behind me, I became dimly aware that a new song started up on the stereo. Pink Floyd, I think, something with a woman bellowing wordlessly into the mic. It was eerie as hell and I wish I’d thought to turn the damned thing off.
As we reached our towels, a shotgun blast roared out of the woods. We both jumped and Crystal gave a little shriek. “What is going on?” she demanded, her voice shaky.
“I don’t know,” I said, and bent down to rummage through my bag. Dammit! I either needed a smaller bag or I needed to rig up some kind of holster so I could get a hold of the F’ing pistol when I wanted it. I shoved aside my mp3 player, and my hand found the checkered wood grip. I’m always amazed at how comforted I am by holding that thing. I get why teenaged boys love guns.
“Is that them?” Crystal asked, and I looked where she pointed. Shadows moved along back in the tree line to our left. They became more distinct; I saw there were three shapes.
“That’s not them,” I said. “Let’s get back to the house.”
“But maybe someone else—” she stopped cold when the two zombies shuffled out of the woods. A girl and a guy. Even though they were all naked, there was nothing even close to sexy about them. Major parts of their bodies were gone. The guy was missing his face.
I heard Crystal talking to herself under her breath behind me. I couldn’t make out what she was saying. Probably trying to calm herself down. I could have used some of that, too. I felt like my heart was beating up in my throat.
The UDs started to walk toward us with purpose. As much purpose as dead folks can have, anyway.
I grabbed Crystal’s hand and she started. She seemed to calm a little bit when I smiled at her. “Let’s just walk to the house,” I told her. “They can’t walk as fast as us.” I started to lead her that way.
Everything seemed like it was going really well. Until I noticed that a fourth zombie had come out of the woods on the opposite side of the clearing and now stood between us and the house. We both froze. Even though I had the gun in my hand, I felt like I couldn’t walk on, couldn’t get closer to this new zombie. Where the hell had she come from anyway? Was she the David Blaine of zombies, just appearing out of thin air? She looked fresher than the other three; still had on her bikini and no bite marks that I could see. So, maybe she was the David-Blaine-zombie’s assistant.
I got my courage up—still being a little drunk helped, and was about to prod Crystal into action when she lost her shit.
She screamed and tore her hand out of my grip and ran to the house. Bikini zombie rushed to meet—way faster than I’d ever seen a zombie move. The monster got its hands on her arms and opened its mouth as it pulled her close. Crystal fought back, thank God.
She bought me time enough to run after her and get so close that I put the muzzle of the pistol right up against the dead bitch’s forehead. The shot was incredibly loud, and I felt the shock of it all the way up my arm since I hadn’t taken time to prepare myself for it. The zombie and Crystal both fell to the ground, and I kicked at the finally dead thing until it let go and Crystal could crawl some distance away. Crystal sat there panting, and I leaned over her, asking if she was okay. She screamed again, this time right in my ear. It was louder than the loudest concert I’d ever been to.
The shufflers were nearly on us. Rather than try to get Crystal up and into the house, I assumed a kneeling stance, pistol held out in front of me with both hands. I sighted down the barrel, squeezed the trigger, let out my breath, and squeezed it some more. I was ready for the recoil this time. Too bad I missed. I squeezed the trigger again and this time scored a hit—in the boy’s chest. Damndamn-damn. I didn’t have time for this. I fired the pistol again, and the boy dropped as a small dot appeared in his forehead.
I was lining up my next shot when a loud boom sounded behind me. The girl on the left had her middle section evaporated by the shotgun blast. I dove into the sand and covered my head, afraid to be hit by any stray buckshot.
Another shot boomed out, and then Crystal started screaming again. What now? I thought. I didn’t want to open my eyes again. Then I figured I’d better check out what was going on. Good thing I did. The top half of the blown-apart zombie crawled toward me; was nearly on top of me. She was so close that I was able to reach out and stick the pistol in her mouth. If I were in an action movie, I’d have said something clever. The truth was I was too scared and tired. I pulled the trigger, and the top of her head disappeared. She lay on the ground right next to me, quivering. I rolled over and, as discreetly as I could in front of my new friends, barfed until I nearly passed out.
Brandon helped me up and walked me toward the cabin. Ken tried to help Crystal. She didn’t want him to touch her. I understood. I glanced at the pile of bodies and wondered what their brains would be worth to my dealer. I started to laugh, and the effect on my throat nearly made me hurl again. No more of that. Inside, Brandon got me a glass of water and asked what had happened.
“I was going to ask you that,” I said. My throat
felt raw from spewing and my voice was all crackly.
“While you guys were in here, Ken saw someone in the trees,” Brandon said. “We grabbed the guns and went to see what was up.”
“We thought we’d be back by the time you got back,” Ken said. He sat on a chair across from Crystal. It looked like he wanted to reach out and comfort her since she was obviously still freaking out. Unfortunately for him, she was also giving a clear “no touch” vibe.
“Yeah,” Brandon said, “but when we got in there, we didn’t see anyone, so we went in deeper and . . . ,” he blushed, “and we got sort of lost.”
“Lost?” Crystal said. Hysteria didn’t just creep into her voice, it moved right in and set up house.
“It’s easy to do,” Brandon said, defensive, “even just a few yards into the woods and you can lose sight of where you walked into them.”
“And we did find a zombie,” Ken put in.
“Yeah, you probably heard us shoot it,” Brandon said.
“You found a zombie?” Crystal asked, her voice shrill. “Well we found some zombies, too, you asshats!” She was up out of her chair, the tendons on the sides of her neck bulging out as she screamed at the boys. “If it hadn’t been for Dead-Eye Lolita over there, we’d be dead!”
“It’s okay, Crystal,” I said, and she seemed to calm down when I spoke to her. She sat down at least. “We got through it.”
Brandon started to apologize. “I am really—”
“Don’t,” Crystal said, and she drew back into herself on the chair.
Brandon looked to me for support, and I shrugged. I had no interest in leading our group therapy session. But there was something that needed to be done.
“Hey, Crystal,” I said as soothingly as possible given the fact that I sounded a lot like Cookie Monster at the moment.
“What?” she asked, not bothering to make eye contact.
“We need to check you out.”
“What does that mean?” she asked. Her voice was weak; she knew what I meant. I had to say it for Brandon and Ken, though.
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