“How do you know that intelligence isn’t God?”
“Yeah,” others agreed, “maybe it’s God. Maybe we’re supposed to submit to His will.”
“Maybe,” Langhorne said. “Or maybe it’s the Devil, did you think of that? Although in a contest between the Devil and Uri Miska, I’d put my money on Miska.”
At lunchtime, I went into the cafeteria. There was no food being served, but many students had brought their own lunches, according to instructions. Since Xombies only needed a tiny fraction of all this food we were eating, most of it passed right through us undigested. The bathrooms became popular student hangouts.
In the cafeteria, I noticed something odd. Blues and Clears were not sitting together.
All my original Dreadnauts had assembled at one table, and I automatically went over there.
“What’s going on?” I asked Julian Noteiro.
He was tentatively peeling a hard-boiled egg. I wondered where he had found it. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“I mean why is the room divided up like this?”
“Oh, that. Yeah. I didn’t really notice.”
I went to a table of Clears and sat down. These were all boys from the boat, not strangers, and I knew most of their names. Speaking to a guy named Virgil Kinkaide, I asked, “Why aren’t you guys sitting with any Blues?”
They ignored me.
“Excuse me,” I said. “I believe I asked you a question.”
Instead of answering, they all got up and stationed themselves at another table. Intrigued, I followed and sat down with them again. When they tried to get up once more, I grabbed Virgil by the ear and slammed his head down on the table, pinning his neck with my elbow.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he squealed.
“What is this? Why can’t I sit with you?”
“You’re Blue.”
“What?”
“Blues and Clears don’t sit together. Go sit at a Blue table.”
“Are you serious?”
“Blues sit with Blues, Clears sit with Clears-everybody knows that.”
“Why?”
He seemed reluctant to answer.
“Who came up with this?”
“All of us. Yesterday, on the bus.”
“I wasn’t on the bus.”
“Well, now you know. So deal with it.”
Interesting, I thought.
After lunch we had Gym, which initially consisted of tryouts for various sports teams: football, baseball, track and field, gymnastics. I recoiled from any of these, having only negative associations with school athletics programs. But there was also to be a marching band. When I saw that the band consisted entirely of Clear guys, I immediately signed up.
“You can’t do that,” said the Clear band captain, a bearded Ex named Henry Bartholomew, whose nephew Jake was one of my best Blues.
“I just did.”
“Well, go and unsign. We’re full up.”
“I’m staying. So deal with it.”
“There’s no way. What are you, ten years old?”
“I’m eighteen.” But he refused to admit me until I said, “I have an idea. Why don’t you go complain to Principal Albemarle?”
Instead of facing big blue Ed, he disbanded the band. After that, the Clears withdrew from most official school activities, forming clubs of their own.
I could sympathize to a degree. In this world, Blue was normal; Blue was the mainstream. Clears could, of course, choose to look Blue, camouflage themselves to resemble everyone else, but that required constant effort on their part, a burden none of the rest of us was subjected to. So it was either accept the strain of conforming, or give up and be… different. They chose to be different.
I chose to join the cheerleading squad. I was intrigued by the idea of being a cheerleader, as it was something I never would have considered in my mortal life, when my physical awkwardness, small size, and bad attitude relegated me to the society of misfits, making anything to do with sports or “school spirit” loathsome. Also, my mother called cheer-leading “Red State porn.”
After school, Lemuel came up to me, and haltingly asked, “D’uh, hey, Lulu, would you like to go to the malt shop with me?”
“Jesus, Lemuel, cut the moron act.”
“Sorry-it’s just that Dr. Langhorne wants us to stay in character. We’re supposed to be examples to the others.”
“Are you sure that’s all it is?”
“Well… ”
“Because I’m not really your girlfriend, you know. I mean, if there even is such a thing anymore as boyfriends and girlfriends. I don’t have those feelings; I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have those feelings, or you just don’t have those feelings for me?”
“I don’t know. What the hell difference does it make?”
“It makes a difference to me.”
“Fine! I have no feelings.”
Lemuel seemed slightly placated. “So how about the malt shop? A bunch of us are going.”
“Yeah, sure, why not? Malt shop-unbelievable!”
When we arrived at the malt shop, the joint was humming-literally. There was a large generator out front spewing exhaust. But the power was on, the neon sign was lit, and the jukebox was playing “Sugar Sugar.” It looked cozy and hospitable, but once inside I could see that Blues were only sitting with Blues, and Clears with Clears. Sal DeLuca sat slumped at the lunch counter, arguing with Emilio Monte, who was dressed like a short-order cook.
“I ain’t makin’ no fifteen hamburgers,” Emilio said.
“But you have to,” Sal insisted, pointing his finger at the pages of a comic book. “It’s right here. It’s my character.”
“I don’t care if it’s your character, the point is I got no meat, kid. No meat, no buns, no cheese, no lettuce, no onions, no tomato. Also no gas to cook it on, you understand? All I got is whatever’s left in tin cans. The refrigerators work, but there ain’t nothing in ’em. You bring me a cow and a charcoal grill, and I’ll make as many hamburgers as you can eat.”
“Well, what do you have?”
“Ah,” Monte said, raising a finger. He leaned down behind the counter and emerged with a box of crackers and a big glass jar. “How do you feel about pickle chips on stale Saltines?”
Before Sal could reply, the door burst open. From out of the darkness, a large, skinned carcass slid across the checker-tiled floor, leaving a red swash. It was a deer-a big buck.
“There’re your hamburgers, Emil,” said former commander Harvey Coombs. He was wearing a coonskin cap and holding a propane gas cylinder on one shoulder. Following behind were Dan Robles and Phil Tran, both dragging sacks of foraged wild goods: potatoes, onions, carrots, various greens. There was a whole truckload of the stuff outside.
The dead animal shocked us-death of any kind was disturbing to those who could not die. I suspected this was one of Langhorne’s tests.
As the restaurant went silent, Emilio Monte stormed out from behind the counter, yelling, “I just waxed this floor!” Ranting about the mess, he slipped on blood and went airborne, crackers flying, and landed flat on his back. The pickle jar shattered, launching sliced gherkins in all directions.
Sal said, “That’s no way to make a buck!”
Everyone laughed and laughed. The new Xombies were slower on the uptake, but quickly caught on, screeching like hyenas. Then the laughter abruptly petered out. The scene was over, no point running it into the ground.
CHAPTER SIX
REBELS WITHOUT A CAUSE
So the days progressed, emulsifying one into the next, until the habits of the world we were creating became ingrained. Not real… but at least routine. Many things needed to be scavenged, so the females were always begging the males to take them “shopping,” which was the pretext by which stores were pillaged for fifties geek-chic costumes and props, Xomboys cooling their heels while Ex-girls posed in outfit after outfit, store after store, with the boys teetering behind them under mou
ntains of boxes and shopping bags. This was multiplied many times over, as there were many boys playing the same roles: nine Archies, for instance, and twice that many Jugheads (the girls were fewer, more closely matching the number of female characters, though Betty and Veronica were disproportionately represented). There were also Fonzies, Beavers, Opies, Charlie Browns, Lucys, Blondies, Flintstones, Jetsons, Bradys, Munsters, Mary Worths, Gidgets, Gilligans, Daisy Maes, Li’l Abners, Richie Riches, Little Audreys, Little Orphan Annies, and Little Lulus. Why the hell, I asked myself, wasn’t I a Little Lulu instead of a fucking Midge?
At the end of every week, the excess goods were distributed throughout the community in the form of gifts. Every Sunday was Christmas in Loveville. In short order, the town was cleaned up, spruced up, and lit up-Officer Arlo Fisk led a delegation of undead nuclear engineers to the nearby Calvert Cliffs Nuclear Power Station, getting the plant going at a small fraction of its capacity… but more than enough for the needs of the town.
On Saturdays, the entire population went to the beach, taking over a cove of the Potomac with our coolers and beach blankets and sun umbrellas. Archies danced around as if the sand was hot, and Reggies rubbed lotion on the girls’ backs. I suffered Ex-Lemuel’s oafish attentions, knowing I was expected to be his fictional “steady,” which was annoying because he took it all a bit too seriously, just as he did the Monday night football games-few of the players he tackled left the field in one piece.
Lemuel had not been the same since drowning in icy slush up at Thule; of all the Dreadnauts, he was always the least pacified by my blood. I would have much preferred spending more time with the aloof Julian Noteiro, but in the persona of brainiac Dilton Doily, he was always busy tending to the technical demands of Loveville. He actually avoided me-he shunned me… so I shunned him right back. But my annoyance grew as this silent treatment continued, until one day I couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“What is your problem?” I demanded.
Refusing to look at me, he said, “My problem?”
“Please! Ever since we arrived here, you’ve been very aloof with me.”
“Aloof?” He mulled over the word. “Aloof… hm.”
“It means removed or distant or-”
“I know what it means. Here’s the thing, Lulu: I’m not human. You’re not human. We are a mockery of everything that’s human, our existence is pointless, and we are condemned to live this way forever. And you ask me why I’m aloof?”
“No, I get all that. And I also know you were an aloof kind of guy even before the world fell apart-fine. What I don’t understand is why you have to treat me differently from everybody else. You work fine with others, you talk with others, you make an effort with others. Why do you have to be such a total Xomboid with me?”
“Lulu, I don’t know what you want from me. This whole thing is your idea-I’m just playing my part.”
“My idea? What whole thing?”
“You can cut out the innocent waif act-nobody buys it anymore.”
“No, seriously, what whole thing? You lost me.”
“Are you kidding? Lulu, you’re in command. You brought us here. You gave Langhorne free rein to use us as rats in her mind-control experiment.”
“Me? No! I’m nothing more than a liaison for Fred Cowper. He’s the captain.”
“That head can’t be captain. Fred Cowper did not lead us here. You did.”
“That’s ridiculous. When did this funny farm become my responsibility? I’m not in charge. I’m not qualified to be in charge.”
“Absolutely. That’s why Langhorne’s picked up the slack; she’s the only one willing to step up. That’s why we’re hemorrhaging people right and left.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The new Blues are heading for the hills, we lose a few every day. We’re marooned-no one’s in charge.”
“Well, I don’t hear any suggestions coming from you.”
“Nobody listens to my suggestions. You want advice? Why don’t you go ask your boyfriend?”
“D’uh, somebody talkin’ about me?”
A large hand spun Julian around, and a right haymaker knocked him clean out of his shoes.
“Goddammit!” I yelled. “Stop that, Lemuel! What the hell’s the matter with you?”
“I can’t help it,” Lemuel said, looking stricken. “I have these feelings…”
“Well, you have to control them! This is getting way out of hand!”
“I know. It’s just that… I think I love you, Lulu.”
“Oh God.”
“I know! It’s impossible. But I can’t help myself. I feel like I’m starving all the time, then if I see you with somebody else, it just makes me lose it, I’m sorry.”
“We’ve all talked about this. It’s only because I’m the last girl you knew before you died.”
“But it isn’t just that! It really isn’t. I really, really love you-I’ve loved you since I first saw you, but the more I got to know you, the more I loved you. And ever since I died, it’s only gotten worse-you’re the only thing I think about, the only thing in the world that can still hurt me. I mean actual, physical pain. You make me feel human. It’s like every cell of my body craves you, and it takes everything I’ve got to restrain myself from grabbing you and holding you and kissing you-”
“I get it, I get it, stop.”
“No! You don’t get it! If you knew what I was going through, you couldn’t treat me the way you do. You would love me back! Please love me, Lulu-you have to love me.” He lunged forward and caught me in his arms. My Maenad flesh recoiled, but Lemuel did not let go.
“Lemuel-oof!-lay off! I told you I can’t love you like that!”
“Yes, you can! You just have to try! I’ll show you!”
Clutching me in his right arm, he used the other to unzip his varsity jacket, revealing a heart-shaped door in his chest. It was silver, elaborately engraved, and in fact was the lid of a fancy music box. Lemuel’s blue flesh puckered around it.
As I watched in dismay, he opened the lid and reached inside.
To the plinking of Bach, Lemuel said, “I give you my heart, Lulu.”
Before I knew what was happening, I felt a cold, slippery object being pressed into my hand. It squirmed like a living creature.
“Now I just need you to give me yours… ”
I was about to leap right out of my skin, when suddenly a large circular saw came out of nowhere and chopped Lemuel’s head off.
It was Julian. He proceeded to cut Lemuel’s still-standing body in half lengthwise, then to remove his limbs from his bisected trunk. It was fast work. Shutting down the saw and flipping up his splattered visor, Julian said, “That oughta hold him for a while.”
“That’s why I don’t bother with girls,” said Sal DeLuca, who was walking by with an enormous submarine sandwich. “They really make a guy go to pieces.” Bystanders laughed.
“Shut up, Sal,” I said, dropping the heart and looking for someplace to wipe my hand. “Why don’t you go do something useful?” As Jughead, Sal did nothing but sleep and eat, seemingly grateful to dispense with all effort.
“Gee whiz,” he said, “have a heart.”
I almost caught him.
On Sundays, everybody went to church, where we learned all about the Father, the Son, and Casper the Friendly Ghost. In the evenings, we held sing-alongs around a bonfire, the officers handing out ukuleles and leading the crowd in Don Ho numbers. Every now and then a rogue Xombie would join the party, but this happened less and less as the weeks went by. The Xombies were pulling out-a mass exodus to the west. The only way to make them stay would have been to inoculate them with my blood serum. Most of these Xombies were male; the female ones were much more elusive, if not gone altogether.
Or so we thought.
One evening in late September, just as the first cool snap came through, I was lying naked on the highest point for miles around: the water tower. I had staked out this spot as the best plac
e to commune with the heavens, and even to a non-Xombie, it would have been a beautiful view-in fact, teens from the surrounding towns had been climbing it for years, as evinced by the graffiti they left behind.
A hundred feet above the ground, I lay spread-eagled on the cold steel surface, my body just as cold and passive as the metal, the flesh of my back wedded to it, using the tower to amplify the stellar chorus-in effect, making myself an antenna, channeling the strange vibrations through hair and toes and fingertips straight to my dead blue heart.
Lulu, a silent voice said. It caused my heart to jump.
Who? What? I asked.
Come away with us. You don’t belong here.
The voice was not coming from above but from below. Peeling myself off the metal, I crawled to the edge of the tower and looked down. Even in the darkness, I could clearly make out figures skittering up the ladder. They were Maenads-female Xombies. More Maenads than I had ever seen.
“What do you want?” I called down.
“To free you,” the leader replied.
“I’m already free.”
“No, you have another purpose.”
“Which is what?”
“To help complete the Hex.”
“The what now?”
“It’s all right, Lulu,” the lead Maenad said, cresting the tower. She was a black silhouette in the moonlight, her skin like metal and her wild hair gleaming like a crown. “We’ll show you.”
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