by Cesar Vitale
As he's talking, I grab a pair of pillows from under me and press them tight against my ears.
"Mfff, mfff, mfff," he says, his voice muffled and far away.
I throw the pillows to the side. "What!?"
"I said I know I must be boring you," Levon continues. "But I haven't talked to anyone in like half a year. Sorry."
He looks down at the floor and starts playing with his shoelaces.
What a drama queen.
I sit up on the couch.
"What?" Levon asks.
I point at the painting hanging on the wall and wave him to bring it over to me.
"You want that?" he asks, excited to get a reaction from me. "I'll get it!"
He brings me the painting and I tear it off the frame. I point at the drawers near us.
"What? What do you want? Oh, a pen!"
Levon finds the world's smallest pencil on a nearby drawer and offers it to me.
With a lot of effort, I flip the canvas over and start scribbling.
Zombie fact number six: your coordination goes to space once you are infected.
I write 'Eve' on the canvas.
"Eve… I don't play, but I have a friend who used to. I don't like it very much, the learning curve is – outch!"
Ok, I shouldn't have hit him on the head. But my God this kid is dense.
My… name… is… Eve.
"Oh!" he says, with a smile, still rubbing the top of his head. "Eve. That's a pretty name!"
I try to smile, but zombie fact number seven: Zombies don't smile.
"Will you go to New York with me, Eve?" he asks. "They have a research lab there, maybe they can cure you."
No, kid… there's no research lab.
I've heard the rumors too. When the outbreak started. That they were working on a cure. That there was a safe haven they would transport the non-infected from the quarantine zones to. It's not true, none of it.
"Will you, Eve?"
Outside, the rain begins to give in a bit, and straps of moonlight squeeze between the cracks on the cardboarded windows, drawing silver shapes on the living room floor. The sound of crickets and wind reaches us from the outside.
And, suddenly, voices.
"I'm telling you, I can smell meat around here."
"You're out of your mind, Betsy."
"Oh, I'm out of my mind? Whose idea was it to just 'hang back in LA until this whole thing blows over? We could have gone to my sister's house in France. We could be in Paris right now, you idiot. Instead, we're zombies!"
"You don't think Paris is full of zombies by now, too? You don't think –"
"What's that? Is that zombies?"
I put my hand over Levon's mouth.
"Mfff! Mfff!"
Pulling Levon down with me, I slide to the ground.
We lie on the carpet in silence. The voices grow louder, then progressively quieter. At last, Levon's breathing goes back to a normal rate, and the voices die away completely.
I take my hand off of his mouth, sitting up.
"Eve…" Levon whispers, under his breath.
"What?"
"Please come to New York with me."
Zombie fact number eight: I'm a soft-hearted idiot zombie.
CHAPTER 4
"Nope, no keys on this one, either."
I penguin my way past the Corolla. Levon strolls ahead of me, jumping in and out of cars and trying their ignitions.
"Nothing here, too," he says, stepping out of a 2006 Ford Focus with no doors. "Keys, but no gas."
"You know what? When you find a car that works, I'll know. Because it will start. Ok, jackass?"
"What's that? Are you cursing me? I can tell when you're cursing me."
It's sunny and hot and there is no shade on the 405 Highway. I'm in no mood.
"Grrrrr," I say, trying to get Levon's attention as he sprints ahead of me to the next car. "Grrrrr."
Zombie fact number nine for all of you: Grunting is not sexy. But it's all Levon hears when I talk, anyway, so I might as well.
"What's wrong, Eve? Are you ok?" Levon asks, hushing back as he notices me kneeled on the floor, hand leaned against a car.
I struggle to pull myself back up, my brain sending signals to my legs to quit being sissies and carry my weight without collapsing.
I need food, I write on the pad, showcasing it to Levon as he helps me up.
"We'll find you food," Levon replies, as I straighten myself and restart the walk. "Hang in there."
We walked past at least a hundred restaurants on the way here with no luck. All the food is gone. We did find a puppy Golden Retriever, just before we reached the 405, but come on… I'm not a monster.
Still, at least no zombies, so far. Except for one. We found a baby zombie on a stroller just by Pico.
Levon was scared of it. It was pretty funny.
Other than that, we've just been walking and walking, trying to find a car that works. Levon's determined to go to New York. What I'm thinking is there's more chance I'll find a cow or a whatever down the highway than in the middle of LA, so I'm all for hitting the road.
I don't know about New York yet, but I am not eating puppy Golden Retrievers.
"Here!" Levon yells, sticking his head out of a dusty Porsche fifty feet away from me. "This one has keys!"
With a loud roar, the car bursts to life, and I manage a smile (internally). I bounce my way to Levon, making way around to the passenger seat.
"Here we go!" he says, with a smile. "What are you doing?"
I frown.
"I can't drive, Eve."
Oh, for fuck's sake.
It's. An. Automatic, I write on the pad. He looks at me and shakes his head.
Just. Put. Transmission. On. Drive.
He nods, putting the car to Drive mode.
Now. Go.
Levon looks from me to the pedals under his feet. He bites his lips.
"Which one is the gas?"
It's been about an hour since we took off, and my thoughts are getting hazier than ever. My legs hurt. Part of it might be this damn California heat. But part of me also remembers what Kathy said about her vegan zombie friend.
We weren't meant to live on cooked meat and small animals. My body is already giving in – now my mind is following it.
At an abandoned convenience store just after Moreno Valley, we found some chocolate bars and water bottles. Levon ate seven Twixes (Twixi?) and an out of date chicken sandwich.
Then, just outside, we found an actual chicken and I ate it.
Levon passed out.
Zombie fact number ten: I laughed. Don't tell him.
Now we're rolling down the I-10 again, cool wind against our hairs and all that. Levon only crashed the car three times in the last fifteen minutes, which is a personal best for him.
"I feel good. Do you feel good, Eve?"
"Grrrr," I say, casually. The chicken did help, if only to keep my legs supporting my body for a little while longer.
We roll past abandoned houses with FOR SALE signs and old farms looking good like they're stuck in a time before the outbreak, all the while listening to the only CD we found in the car:
Bon Jovi's Greatest Hits.
Not complaining, mind you. I like Bon Jovi. But Levon takes it to a whole other lev –"
"BAM BAM, BAM BEEEIN, BU BEEE NANAAN NA – hey!"
I grab the CD sprouting from the player and throw it out the window. From the backseat, Tommy Gina barks in joy.
Oh, yeah, zombie fact number eleven: We kept the Golden Retriever. We named it Tommy Gina.
On my pad, I write, Singing along guitar solos is dorky.
"Fine," he says. "But now we have to talk."
I grunt again, dragging my eyes out the window at the view.
"You wanna know something cool? Did you know I used to play Mortal Kombat professionally? I even won a tournament once. Pasadena, two thousand and nine. First place."
I write down on the pad, I don't think you know what
'cool' means.
"It was very cool. I won a medal and everything." He pauses. "Do you think they'll have a cure for you in New York? It would be so cool if they could –"
"I'm not going to New York with you, kid," I say, straightening myself on the seat. "In fact, if you could drop me off –"
"Eve, I can't understand you when you grunt."
Sighing, I reach for the pad and I'm about to start scribbling when --
"Levon, look out!"
Levon spots the tree trunk laid across the road, but too late. The car crashes violently against it, tumbling sideways and over, then falling down to the side, the driver's side door screeching against the pavement to a full stop.
This is what I assume happened at least, because I am now hanging from the seat belt over Levon, who's looking at me like I'm his mother and he's got a school report full of bad grades.
"Sorry, Eve," he says. "I didn't see the –"
"Grrr," I say, trying to get him to shut up. From out my window, I hear voices.
Actual voices, not zombie ones.
"What's going on?" Levon asks.
I turn around. Outside, the right front wheel is still spinning up in the air against nothing. Smoke comes out of the engine.
Then a face frames itself against the clouds, in a full beard and sided by a baseball bat on each shoulder.
"What did the net catch, this time?" the face asks. "Holy cow, is that a zombie wearing a seat belt!?"
Two other faces show up by the man's side, and I struggle to free myself.
"Can you just, like, take the boy and let me go back to being a zombie?" I ask the men, trying to sound friendly.
The one on the left pulls a .38 pistol and points it. "We gotta show this to the boss," he says, opening the passenger door.
Zombie fact number twelve: I think we're screwed.
CHAPTER 5
Zombie fact number thirteen: I could easily get out of this chair. They have me tied up with old rope and my hands behind my back, the knot so loose it's hard not breaking free by accident. These guys have no idea what they're doing.
But they also have guns to mine and Levon's face, so I guess I should keep playing stupid.
By the large front entrance, I see bearded man walking back inside the warehouse, making way across the strips of sunlight on the hay covered floor towards us. On the chair by my side, Levon shivers.
The man stops between the two of us, eyes on Levon.
"So…" he starts, with a smile, "what's the deal with zombiechick here? Old girlfriend?"
Levon doesn't answer. With a confident step, bearded man crouches to his eye level. Coming from the front door, the two other men make way towards us.
"Where do you live?"
Again, Levon is silent. He turns his face away like the man has bad breath, which he probably does.
Bearded man drags Levon's gaze back to him with a pull of his hair. "Are you with doctors? Do you have food?"
It's cool. These guys are after food and supplies, that's all. They're looters. As long as Levon doesn't piss them off, I don't see how --
"Fuck you," says Levon, spitting on the floor next to the bearded man.
Alrighty then…
The two other men behind him laugh, and bearded man slams his fist against Levon's face.
"Ok," he says, getting up, rubbing his knuckles. "So… what? This is just your regular zombie? Regular, day-to-day, flesh-eating, grunting, foul smelling walking dead?"
Levon raises his eyes, his nose dripping in blood in that way that makes you look cool if you're already attractive, but like a dork with chronic nose bleed if you're not.
"It's just a zombie," Levon says. He looks like a dork.
"Why were you keeping it captive?"
Levon doesn't answer.
"Well," bearded man says, turning to me. He pulls the .38 and raises it to my forehead. "If it's just a zombie, I guess I can –"
"DON'T!"
Bearded man smiles, lowering the pistol.
Oh, Levon, you have the spine of a slug orgy.
"So…" he restarts, turning back to Levon, "are you going to tell me the deal with the pet zombie? Or should I go get my boss?"
He gets closer again, and I see Levon's eyes going from the man's face to his waist, where a big hunting knife is lodged between pants and skin.
"I'm going to New York," Levon says, careful. "I'm not with any colony. I don't have any –"
"I say we kill the zombie and take the boy's car and food," one of the men suggests.
"No," bearded man answers, his eyes still on Levon. "We don't do anything until the boss talks to him."
These guys are pirates. I've met groups like them, once of twice. Living people who prey on other living people – scavengers and thieves. They don't usually dwell in the cities, but out on the highways, where zombies are rarer…
That log on the highway was no accident.
Behind his back, I see Levon has managed to free his hands from the rope.
No. Don't do it, Levon. They are three men with guns and we one Mortal Kombat ex-champion and a grumpy zombie. Don't go for that knife.
"Your people working on a cure?" bearded man asks. "Is that why you're keeping this one?"
Don't do it, don't do it, don't do –
Crap. He's doing it.
Levon jumps for the knife on the man's pants, which has two effects:
First, he doesn't really get up from the chair, seeing as his ass is still tied to it, only his hands are free. He just stands, seat still glued to his body as he makes his not-very- heroic charge for the knife.
Second, he does get the knife, but he also falls down face first on the floor, the chair legs sprouting to the sky from his ass like he's some sort of man-metal machine. And now I have to act, because bearded man is pulling his gun on Levon.
Pulling on the loose knot on my ropes, I set myself free and turn to the men.
"Grrrrrr!" I say, trying to sound scary. Bearded man turns my way.
The two other men also turn, and now I'm in a kind of shitty situation – I have to dodge bullets and/or fight them with all the grace of my penguin-like movements.
As I bounce my way towards them, slow like I'm trying to unfrost chicken wings with my breath, I think that this is it -- this is definitely how I die. The men raise their guns my way, and bearded man fires the first shot.
It misses me. But I'm still a good thirty feet away from them. There's no way I'm getting there in time to –
"AAAAAAH!"
Bearded man looks back. Levon has the knife to one of his partner's back, rising from above his falling body like an action hero with too much acne and not enough pecks.
The two guns turns his way, and it's now or never. With difficulty, I grab my chair, pull it over my head, bobble my way towards bearded man and…
Yes!
Bearded man takes it hard on the back of his head and falls down, dropping the pistol.
Now it's Levon turns to shine – he grabs the gun and, before the third man can react, raises it: "Drop your weapon!"
Third man also has his pistol pointed at Levon now.
I never got that in movies – this showdown with the gun to your enemies face. I mean, just fire first! These guys just stand there like they're holding the door open for each other: "You wanna do it? Should I do it? Should I? I don't… you wanna go first?"
"You drop it!" Levon demands, the pistol shaking in his hand.
Yes! You show them Levon! You show them, you adorably annoying nerdy motherfu—
Uh-oh.
Behind Levon, bearded man is waking up, shaking his head and spitting.
"Grrrr!" I say, penguining my way towards them.
"Relax, Eve, I got this!" Levon replies, as bearded man pulls his body up to kneeling position.
"Grrrr! Grrrr!" I try again, raising my hand towards the bearded man. "Behind you, Levon!"
"Drop your weapon now, or I -- Eve, I'm kind of in the middle of something her
e!"
"Grrrrr! Grrrr!"
"What? What are you –"
Bearded man slams the chair against Levon's head, and now it's Levon's turn to fall to the ground.
We're chairing each other like crazy here, let me tell you.
Third man's gun turns towards me, and I stop.
"Wake the boy up," bearded man orders his partner. "And call the boss. He'll make him talk." He turns to face me. "Kill the zombiechick. I've had enough of – what is this noise?"
I hear it too. At first it seems like rain, but the sun is still shinning outside. Then, slow and horrifically like finding out your Bluetooth is connected to your living room stereo while you're watching porn, I realize what it is.
Steps.
A thousand different voices burst at the same time from out the window, screaming, talking, yelling. First low, then, as the steps get closer and closer, growing louder and more intense.
Bearded man turns to his partner, an intense look in his eyes. "Herd," he whispers, just as the shadow of a thousand zombies blocks the sun from the first window on the far right, casting his face into shadow.
For a second, nobody moves. Then bearded man yells, "Run!"
The two men take off, making way past me towards the warehouse door and disappearing in the sun outside.
In front of my feet, Levon's body rests unconscious.
CHAPTER 6
"Go away!" Eve shouted, fully aware that her words were not likely to have any effect.
"Eve?" her mother asked, pushing the door open a crack and proving her right. "What are you doing?"
"Writing Harry Potter Erotica Fanfic," Eve replied, eyes on the ceiling as her mother walked in.
"What happened at school today, Eve?" her mother asked, ignoring the joke and stepping inside.
From the living room, Eve could hear the distant sound of the TV newscaster.
'World Health Organization representative Larry Benton reinstated this morning that there is no need to panic, and that all measures are being taken to --'
"The principal called. Again, Eve."
"You guys going out on a date?" Eve asked, defiantly.
"Eve, this is serious." Her mother sat on the bed by her side. "If anyone is giving you a hard time in school, you should let me –"