Kiss of Life

by Daniel Waters

  She hovered for a moment--like she did with everything she'd ever written that was of a personal nature--over the thought of deleting the whole thing. Tommy this, Tommy that. She sounded like a mopey schoolgirl. Oh, wait, she thought, I am a mopey schoolgirl.

  If you missed Tommy so much, she thought, why did you blow him off, practically chase him out of town? If you were so

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  guilty over Adam getting killed, why didn't you go see him tonight after he was done with karate? Just because you tried to kiss him and he pushed you away?

  The zombies who read this would probably think she was the worst sort of hanger-on, the sort of kid that's so screwed up and lonely and cut off from her own kind that she was trying to glom onto the little community that Tommy built. But isn't that what all lonely kids do in some way?

  She highlighted the entire text and right-clicked "Cut." The thoughts were out of her head, she told herself, that was the important thing.

  Her computer told her that she had mail. She maximized the screen and there was an e-mail from WILLIAMSTOMMY @MYSOCALLEDUNDEATH.COM . "The Long and Unwinding Road" was in the subject header.

  Tommy.

  She clicked the e-mail open; there was an attachment called ROADBLOGI, and she started downloading as she began reading.

  Hi Phoebe--

  I'm almost in New York and so far the trip has been going well. I walked alongside of 95 for a little stretch and saw about four thousand white vans, but am happy to say none of them stopped with nets and flamethrowers. I've attached my first blog for you or Karen to post on the site. I'm sending this from a church, if you can believe it. With so many religious types of all denominations out there wanting to burn us like a stack

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  of Harry Potter books, it continually amazes me how many of the clergy reach out. Actually, so far the kindness of people-- well, you can read the blog. Have you started writing yours yet?

  I miss you already. Say hi to Adam and the gang.

  T.

  She clicked reply and keyed in a quick response.

  Hi Tommy--

  Glad to hear you're safe, everyone here misses you too. We--the Weird Sisters--are going to NYC later this week, on the day after Thanksgiving to go to Aftermath. Want to meet us there?

  Love,

  Phoebe

  Despite her sign-off, she thought the e-mail was a little impersonal. She was about to hit send when at the last second, she tapped

  PS: What do you think of this?

  And then pasted the "Words From a Beating Heart" text she had cut into the body of the e-mail. She immediately felt embarrassed and closed out her Internet service, as though by turning it off she could recall the e-mail she'd just sent.

  She looked at the clock and was thankful that tomorrow was Sunday. She opened Tommy's blog and began to read.

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  The hour was now so late it was almost absurd, but Phoebe went back online. She saw that WILLIAMSTOMMY had beaten her to the punch.

  Phoebe--

  This is beautiful. I think the zombie community is really going to respond positively to what you've written.

  Love,

  T.

  Love, she thought, he'd typed "love" just as she had. A multifaceted word, love, there probably wasn't another word in this or any other language that had so many shades and degrees. She knew that he loved her and she loved him, just as she loved Adam and Adam loved her. But with love, theirs or his, it was always a question of degree, and what one was willing to do to express that degree.

  She wondered what Adam was doing right then, and her breath caught in her throat. But then again, it did the same thing when she thought of Tommy. Shades and degree.

  She signed off without replying, turned the volume of the speakers down another notch or two, then blew out the sputtering candles. Only then did she crawl into bed and pull the blankets close to her.

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  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  TRIED TO WORK the remote but the remote was slippery like a fish slipped out of hands once twice three times on the third Jimmy yells from the kitchen will you stop it you stupid ass and Mom yells and Joe yells and Johnny yells and they're all yelling but this is a pretty typical Thanksgiving.

  Mom wanted me at the table but Jimmy freaked said it was bad enough he had to look at me and it ruined his appetite are you trying to make me puke. Felt kind of sad looking at all the food can't eat looked at the table for a minute before they sat mashed potatoes stuffing turnip. Never thought would miss turnip.

  Johnny's brought a girl with him for dinner Susan and Susan seems nice but she's scared. Scared of FrankenAdam. Should be. Reached for the remote got it changed the channel the Patriots are winning the Jets are losing and wish wish wish could play.

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  Next year. Next year. If Tommy why not FrankenAdam? Could play again. Sure.

  Jimmy yells again and storms out and Mom starts crying didn't even know dropped the stupid remote again. Think can smell turkey for a little while but maybe it is really just wishful thinking. Talked to Karen and to Colette about this for a while and they both say it will come. Karen says she can smell just about everything and maybe more. Don't know what she means but Karen isn't really on the same playing field as most zombies anyway. Then Karen started talking about how she thinks she can taste some things and Colette makes a stupid joke about how Karen tastes and then Phoebe came over and for some reason we all stop talking.

  Phoebe.

  "You okay, son?" Joe asks, florid from holiday wine Hey, Phoebe florid does that count? He reaches for the remote but FrankenAdam is quicker. Quicker!

  "I'm ...fine, Joe." Shorter pause maybe.

  He nods, goes back. Johnny is telling Mom that Jimmy is just an a-hole like he thinks that will get her to stop crying and Susan is crying too. Wishing could play some football when there is a knock on the door and Joe lets Phoebe in. Saw Phoebe at school walked with Phoebe to classes sat together on bus but different now. Doesn't touch, doesn't hold my hand.

  Phoebe apologizing. FrankenAdam should apologize. Scared shamed Phoebe should apologize.

  "Is this a bad time?" she said.

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  When is it not. Johnny tries to be gallant and introduce crying girlfriend Mom runs to bedroom and slams the door. Fridge opens and another beer is cracked.

  "Hi, Adam," says Phoebe, Phoebe so pretty in a silky blouse, light green, shiny, reflecting perfect skin and eyes two shades darker and green, the color of her skirt. Soft suede boots, chocolate brown, just below her knee, with heels. Phoebe.

  "Hi, Fee ...bull." Nervous or dead? At least always have that excuse now.

  She sits on the sofa across, green eyes turned toward the game for briefest of seconds. "Holidays can be fun, can't they?" she says. "We have Gram over, that can always be a trip."

  Gram is Phoebe's grandmother. Remember she made good pies, pumpkin pies. Used to have a piece of pumpkin pie with Phoebe and her Gram in her kitchen Thanksgiving night.

  "Fun. Did ...Jimmy ...run you ...over?"

  "He tried," she said, "I'm too quick."

  "How ...was ...dinner?"

  "Oh, it was good." Phoebe said she eats like a bird. Not like Margi that girl can really pack it away but Phoebe always quit before she got full. She'd eat a hot fudge sundae but that was about the only thing. Sad. Sad remembering thinking about all the time wasted with airheads like Holly when could have been having sundaes with Phoebe.

  Joe stands in doorway with his beer and that is his way of telling to vacate his seat, so vacate his seat. It takes a little time but almost got it when Phoebe reaches out to help. Wish she wouldn't do that and tell her so. Somehow can't move or talk

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  fast enough unless it is to say or do something that hurts her.

  "Why don't you two go for a walk?" Joe says. Johnny and Susan are already leaving and Mom is down the hall with the door closed. Joe pouring beer onto a fire that he does not want to get out of contro
l.

  "Let's go ...for a ...walk."

  "I ... I just came over to say hi," Phoebe said. "I'm going to go back."

  See the hurt in her eyes, hurt that FrankenAdam put there. Don't do much right anymore. "I'll ...walk ...you ...out."

  "We're still planning on going to New York tomorrow," said Phoebe. "If you want to come."

  She's not looking at me when she says it. Phoebe was changing right in front of me, I realized.

  Realized that finally might have pushed her away.

  "No ...thanks."

  She knew anyhow. The wind is sweeping her hair up and can imagine the scent of flowers being drawn forth by the breeze. She doesn't have jacket on and she is shivering. Want to tell her to go home but guess already done that really.

  "'Bye, Adam," she said. "I'll see you Monday."

  Monday, three days away. The longest gone without seeing Phoebe since death is about twenty-four hours.

  "Bye ...Pheeble,"

  Watched her walk away but turn before she gets to the door because don't want her to see watching her. Suppose should be happy, because have been trying to get her to leave alone and

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  live for weeks now, been trying and finally succeeded but no sense of triumph. Could have apologized at least.

  Inside the house Joe is watching some team, Patriots or Jets or Giants achieve some objective; scoring of a touchdown or completion of a pass. Feel no sense of accomplishment for achieving my objective, only a pervading sense of loss. Objective of finally pushing her away.

  Pervading. Didn't think dead body possessed sense motor impulses but turned reflexively back toward her house. She was already inside.

  God, I thought. God, I love her.

  Spent the rest of Thanksgiving doing karate in the backyard, barely noticing when a light snow began and stopped a few hours later.

  Snow began to fall. Couldn't feel it.

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  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  "WILL YOU STOP ...apologizing?" Colette said. "And please ...watch the ...road? I don't want to ...die ...again."

  "Okay, okay," Margi said. "Chill out. Is that truck still behind me?"

  Phoebe watched the conversation from the "safety" of the backseat, trying not to be distracted by the big pink bubbles that Karen was blowing, or by the other cars on the highway that Margi seemed to be in perpetual danger of drifting too close to.

  Margi's parents had given her an eight o'clock curfew, so the girls decided to go to the city during the day, something that Margi felt compelled to apologize over ad infinitum.

  "Don't worry about it, Margi," Karen said, snapping her gum. "I have to work tomorrow morning anyhow. And I need my beauty sleep."

  Colette turned around in her seat--Margi had done

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  an exceptional makeup job on her.

  "Do you really ...sleep ...Karen?"

  Karen reaches over and patted her hand. "No, sweetie. I was just kidding. Your eyes are really pretty, BTW."

  "Really? Thank ...you. I ...do ...sometimes. Sleep ...I mean. Not sleep really ...more like ...hibernate."

  "Really?" Karen said, sucking in a bubble. "Mal does that too. I zone out sometimes, but it isn't really like ...sleeping."

  "I don't know ...what it is ...it's weird. It's like I'm ...awake ...but dreaming ... at the same time."

  "Weird. George was talking about that the other day." "George? Old-school George? He ...talks?" "Mmm-hmm," Karen replied. "He does to me." "Ick," Margi said.

  "George isn't so ...bad," Karen said. "I think the ...old-schoolers ...are just...misunderstood."

  Phoebe was about to comment on the fact that they were currently being misunderstood by the local police, but Margi beat her to it.

  "Isn't George the one gnawing on pets?" Margi asked. "I haven't let Familiar out of the house in a week." "What do you mean?" Karen said.

  Phoebe realized that Karen was wearing Lady Z; she could smell it mixing with the scent of bubble gum.

  "You didn't see that article in the paper?" she asked. She gave a summary of the article when Karen gave her a look of confusion, ending with the photo of George.

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  "You're kidding," she said.

  "That's what the paper said."

  "No way. George wouldn't hurt a fly."

  "Tak would," Colette and Margi said in unison.

  "So would ...George," Colette added. "He probably ...thinks ...he is ...supposed to."

  "I don't believe it," Karen said. "There's no way. No way. George is a little too interested in roadkill, but there's no way he'd do this. He's not fast enough. He'd get ...caught ...the moment he tried."

  Phoebe thought that Karen was trying to convince herself, which made her want to drop the subject. The other girls in the car must have had their telepathetic powers working, because they let the matter rest.

  "And Tak wouldn't ... kill," Karen said again. The next bubble she blew made a noise like a gunshot as it popped. "Not even an animal, no way. No ...way."

  "There's the ...train station ...exit," Colette said. Everyone seemed glad for the interruption.

  New Haven was the first stop, but there were plenty of people who stayed on, wanting to get into New York City for the holiday weekend. Margi ushered the girls into a quartet of facing seats.

  "Oh, I can't ride ...backward," Colette said, "I get ...motion ...sickness."

  Only when she forced out a laugh a moment later did the other girls realize she was kidding.

  She was wearing a black Restless Dead sweatshirt that

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  Phoebe had given Margi for her birthday a year or so ago. The sweatshirt had a hood, which Colette pulled up so no one could see her face. Phoebe knew that her constant wisecracking was just a cover for a deep-seated self-consciousness.

  Karen, her platinum hair trailing down the shoulders of a smart, black leather jacket that tapered at the waist, was sometimes not self-conscious enough. She would look into the eyes of anyone who passed, drilling into their souls with her bizarre diamond eyes. Phoebe watched a young woman pushing a stroller freeze in her tracks before turning around to find a seat in a different car. Beside her, Karen gave the impression of being oblivious to people's various reactions, but Phoebe thought she could see a light dancing in the diamonds whenever she provoked one, good or bad.

  And there were other reactions besides the fear. A pair of boys hopped on to the train just before it left the station. One of them had long black hair and a leather jacket, and for a moment Phoebe felt her heart beating in her chest because she thought it was Takayuki, but when the boy looked up she saw that he had blue eyes. His companion was dressed in a similar fashion, with ripped denim jeans and a faded Zombie Power! T-shirt on beneath his motorcycle jacket.

  The blue-eyed boy saw Karen and smiled.

  "Hey," he said.

  "Hello," Karen answered, her voice cool, bordering on blasé.

  The other girls, even Margi, who had been chattering away, fell silent when the conversation began. Colette wouldn't even peek out from beneath her hood.

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  "I like your eyes," he said.

  "Thank you," she said. "Yours are nice too."

  His buddy thought that was pretty funny, but Phoebe could tell he was also trying to decide which one of them he would try and talk to now that his friend had engaged Karen. He stared past Colette to Margi, who managed to affect a glare that was three parts contempt and one part provocation. Phoebe knew from seeing the look in action that it turned off most of the boys she met, but a certain segment--like poor Norm Lathrop--fell for it utterly and completely.

  The train jerked into life and the boy introduced himself as Dom and his friend as Bee.

  "Where are you ladies headed?" he said, including the rest of them in the conversation. When his eyes met Phoebe's she felt her heartbeat again; his facial features were angular and handsome, his smile the only soft thing about him.

  "We're going to Aftermath," Karen sa
id, sounding both matter-of-fact and bored. Phoebe thought of a cat batting around a ball of string.

  "No kidding," Dom said, flashing white teeth. "We are too. Are you looking forward to dancing with the dead?"

  He was smiling when he said it, his voice free of sarcasm. Was he unaware that Karen was a zombie?

  "Sure," Karen said. "We like to dance. There are a bunch of db kids at our school who go to the club, so we thought we'd go out and have some fun."

  "Yeah? What school do you go to?"

  "Oakvale High," she said, and there was a momentary

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  pause. "We're graduating ... in the spring so we want to make sure we're having as much fun as possible ... in our last year."

  A look passed between the boys. "Seniors, huh?"

  Karen nodded.

  "Yeah," Margi challenged. "Where do you go to school?"

  "Yale," Dom said, sighing like he was ashamed of it. "We're only freshmen, though."

  "Oh," Karen said, "are you in ...the Skull and Bones society?"

  Dom and Bee laughed along with them.

  "Something like that. We're in a band called Skeleton Crew, so that's pretty close."

  "Skeleton Crew?" Margi said, interest suddenly replacing abrasion in her voice. "So you sing 'Living is like Dying'?"

  In response, Dom started to sing, "Living is like dying, all over again, all over again, like dying, all over again ..."

  "You're not the singer," Karen observed.

  Dom ran his hand through his hair, revealing that it had been razored to a thin dark stubble over one ear. "Boy, you're tough. No, I'm the guitarist. Bee plays bass."

  "And your singer," Margi said, "DeCayce. He's a ..."