Better Off Undead

by James Preller

  “Let’s play!” he said, kicking the ball to me.

  “I can’t.”

  “Please!”

  “Not now. But later, I promise,” I said.

  “Pinkie swear!”

  I laughed—“Get outta here, twerp”—and kicked the ball a mile. Not bad.

  Talal and I went around back to sit under the patio umbrella—safe, we hoped, from prying eyes. “So?” I asked.

  “Remember all that building equipment we saw up at the Bork estate?” Talal asked. “I got curious about it, so I did a little research.”

  “You went back up there?”

  “No, I reprogrammed the drone that we knocked out of the sky.” Talal smiled, pleased with himself. “I think that’s called irony, right? Using one of the Borks’ own drones to spy on them. Or maybe it’s poetic justice, I’m not sure.”

  “Either way, nicely done,” I complimented him. “What did you find out?”

  “I think they’re building … some kind of medical facility,” he said. “They have huge crates of operating equipment, all kinds of expensive machinery.”

  It confirmed what Dr. Halpert had told me.

  Talal took off his hat, turned it round and round in his hands. “I know, it’s bizarre,” he said. “The structure went up really quickly, definitely not part of the main house. It’s a separate building entirely. The walls are lined with lead. Whatever they’ve got planned for that building, they want to keep it a secret.”

  I needed a drink. “Water?” I offered.

  “You got anything stronger?”

  “Grape juice?”

  Talal nodded. “Make it a tall one.”

  I returned with two filled glasses and a bowl of chips, which neither of us touched.

  “I haven’t told you everything that happened that day,” I said.

  Talal looked up. And like always, he waited, as a good detective should.

  I filled the silence. “The medical facility makes sense. They want to conduct experiments.”

  “On you?”

  “Yeah, on me,” I said. “The Borks are dying. Or at least one of them looks like toast already. They seem to think that I might be the cure.”

  Talal held the juice glass between his hands meditatively.

  I recalled the buzzing I’d sensed when I was in the room with the Borks. The garbled static that had filled my head. The word that had threaded its way to me: escape, escape, escape.

  For some reason, I didn’t tell Talal about the buzzing. Perhaps he already knew. There had been that stray bee in the limo during the ride home. What had Tal said? Ah, there you are.

  The gumshoe downed his juice with one gulp. “Riddle me this, Adrian: Do you really think it’s over? That the mighty Borks of K & K are going to let you just waltz out of there? Two of the most powerful men in the world, defeated by a zombie boy?”

  “I didn’t defeat them,” I said.

  “That’s what worries me,” Tal replied. “They don’t seem to be the type to take ‘no’ for an answer.”

  I told him he was probably right. Then I remembered: “There was a nurse in the room with them.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I saw her in the hallway. Later on, Kristoff said, ‘Nurse, bring my checkbook.’”

  “That confirms it,” Talal said, clapping his hands together. “It wasn’t some trick with technology. The Borks are really there in the building. Maybe in the next room!”

  “Well, that’s good, I guess,” I said. “At least I wasn’t talking to a phony image on a television screen.”

  “Be careful,” Talal warned. “I’ll keep working the drone, talking with my hacker friends. Let’s see if I can come up with any answers.”

  “Thanks, Tal. I don’t know where I’d be without your help.”

  “I’m just a gumshoe,” he said, adjusting his hat as he stood. “Gia’s the one who hired me. You should thank her.”

  Gia, I thought.

  The girl who’d been stung by a thousand bees.

  I wondered how she’d liked the limo.

  THEN, SUDDENLY, GONE

  There was no point trick-or-treating before dusk, so we took it slow that afternoon. My mom hung around all day, decorating the house with pumpkins and wicked witches, busting moves to old Motown sounds, and helping us with our costumes. She even pulled out a battered sewing machine, something I hadn’t seen her do in years. Together we made buffalo chicken dip—which I nibbled out of politeness—and watched a game on ESPN47. It was all so average. Out of nowhere she said, “This is nice, being together.”

  She squeezed my hand.

  I thought it was nice, too, so I grunted back. In the back of my mind, I kept mulling over that morning’s conversation with Talal. Why hadn’t the Borks come after me already? And if they did, how could I protect myself?

  Dane was ready and fully costumed by five o’clock, loose bits of straw drifting to the floor. Super excited, he pestered me to act out with him the scene from the movie when Dorothy first meets the Scarecrow. Dane had every word and gesture committed to memory. “You have to ask which way,” he demanded.

  “Okay, as long as you don’t make me get off the couch,” I said, lazily stuffing another chip in my mouth. In a poor imitation of Dorothy, I asked in a high voice, “Now which way do we go, Toto?”

  Dane pointed left, arm fully extended, and said in his best Scarecrow voice, “Pardon me, that way is a very nice way.” After a pause, he switched arms and said, “It’s pleasant down that way, too!”

  “Too bad we don’t have a dog to play Toto,” I commented.

  Dane refused to break character. Scarecrow continued, “Of course, people do go both ways!”

  He shook his head no, nodded yes, and pointed in both directions simultaneously. Scarecrow went on to explain, quite thoughtfully, that he didn’t have a brain.

  I was saved from another hour of acting out scenes from the movie when the doorbell rang. It was Zander and Gia—already dressed for Halloween. Zander looked decent as the Cowardly Lion. The tail was right, anyway. But Gia was stunning with her hair parted in the middle, tied in blue bows that matched her blue-checkered dress. She even carried an old-fashioned handbasket.

  “There’s no place like home,” Gia said, entering our living room.

  Dane stood awestruck. “Dorothy,” he murmured.

  Gia curtsied, bending her knees and bowing graciously. “And you must be Scarecrow,” she said. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

  My costume required silver face paint, about a thousand feet of aluminum foil, and a silver funnel hat that was strapped to my chin. My mother touched up Zander’s face paint, and after a few photographs, it was time to go. She called to me from the front door. “Keep a close eye on your brother, and don’t eat too much junk!”

  We led Dane to the more expensive neighborhoods, where most trick-or-treaters clustered. Better candy in large amounts, as simple as that. Gia, Zander, and I all felt a little corny in our Oz costumes—we were borderline too old for Halloween—but Dane’s electric, over-the-moon presence made everything okay. He sang and danced and twirled around, swinging his ever-bulging pillowcase in the air. “If I only had a brain!” As the night deepened, the costumes on our fellow trick-or-treaters gradually shifted from Pixar movie characters to edgier costumes worn by older kids. The usual stuff: chain-saw killers, nuclear mutants, and, of course, werewolves and zombies.

  Lots of zombies.

  I tried not to let it bother me. But think about it: How would you like it if people dressed up as you for Halloween? Like it’s a great big joke, be a zombie for a night, then wash off the gunk before climbing between cool white bedsheets. Ha-ha-ha. I’d like to see them try it with lung tissues liquefying and a pancreas in shreds. What if I dressed up exactly like everybody else: the jeans, the football jersey, the new kicks, and the same twenty-dollar haircut. What do they do, sit in the barber’s chair and say, Give me the same cut as everybody else?

  I don’t
think I wanted that, either.

  Rats. A zombie heart might not beat, but it can still ache.

  After a while, we stopped going door-to-door with Dane, who was super hyped up on candy. He ran up and down the walkways and across the lawns: giddy and joyful, cute as a puppy.

  The sidewalks were filled with ever-changing groups of trick-or-treaters. I spied one figure in a yellow beekeeper’s outfit, head veiled. He or she never got close but seemed to be around every corner, lurking behind every tree.

  “Hi, Cheryl,” Gia greeted a girl dressed as a cheerleader with an ax in her head.

  “Who’s that?” I asked.

  “Cheryl,” Zander dryly stated.

  “Beyond the name,” I said.

  “Just a girl,” Gia replied. “Why, do you think she’s pretty?”

  I laughed. “Call me picky, but I’m not really into girls with axes stuck in their heads.”

  Gia said “hmmmph” and walked ahead.

  She almost seemed jealous. Could it be possible? Zander poked me on the shoulder. “You guys see Dane?”

  “He’s around here somewhere.” I swiveled my head. Up the street. Down the street. I checked the doors to the houses for stray trick-or-treaters. The neighborhood had nearly emptied. “Dane?” I called. “Dane!”

  Gia and Zander picked up the cry. We walked, and then ran, up and down the street. “Dane! DANE!”

  “Stay calm,” Zander advised. “Dane probably got swept up with another group in the excitement. We’ll split up and—”

  A long black limousine pulled up. The passenger-side window slid down. There he was, smiling back at us.

  “Dane!” I exclaimed.

  “Get in, all of you,” the driver ordered. His face was half hidden in shadow, but it was one I would never forget—the burly, unsmiling bodyguard from the Borks’ estate. The guy I nearly ate.

  I snatched for the door handle. “Run, Dane!” I shouted.

  Click. The automatic lock snapped down, the window rolled halfway up. Through the window, I watched as the driver leaned closer to my brother. He put a gloved hand on Dane’s shoulder.

  It was the simplest of gestures. Even gentle, in some ways. But the threat was unmistakable.

  “Get in, Adrian,” the man repeated.

  Desperate, I looked around. The street was empty except for the lone beekeeper, moving away from us, sliding seamlessly into the shadows.

  We had no choice.

  We climbed into the car.

  Dr. Halpert was waiting in the backseat, a relaxed smile on his face. “Has anyone got any chocolate they’d care to share?”

  A SECRET REVEALED

  The cell vibrated in my back pocket. I slyly checked it, hoping to hide it from Dr. Halpert. I assumed it would be from my mother, but I didn’t recognize the number. The message box was empty except for a lone ampersand, like a signal from a ghost.

  Or a message from someone too cautious to speak.

  I thought of the beekeeper, dressed in yellow, that I’d seen lurking in the shadows. I punched in one word: Gumshoe?

  Y came the reply.

  Dr. Halpert held out his hand. “I’ll take your phone.”

  I hesitated.

  “My mother,” I said. “She wants me to keep in touch.”

  He showed me his clean, tidy white teeth. “This is unpleasant business, Adrian. A sorry turn of events. It’s up to you what happens tonight. Just cooperate with us, and in a few hours you’ll be home, snug as a bug in bed.”

  “What about my brother?”

  “Dane will be unharmed, of course,” the doctor reassured. “We are not monsters, Adrian. Look at him in the front seat, happily eating candy and watching cartoons. He thinks this is fun. Your brother was merely a device for getting you into the car.”

  Merely a device. The phrase echoed in my head.

  Gia sat across from me, arms crossed, scowling.

  I said, “I would have come without all the drama.”

  Dr. Halpert slipped our phones into the pocket of his suit jacket. My lifeline to Talal, buried in a blue blazer with brass buttons. “Kristoff has a particular vision for you,” the doctor said in soothing tones. “It was imperative that we prevented you from notifying others. No one can know where you are tonight. The Borks did not wish for any … untoward interruptions.”

  Zander and Gia sat glaring at Halpert, their backs to the driver. The car was so spacious we could have stretched out our legs without touching. Neither spoke, but Gia’s eyes were active and alert. I could almost hear the wheels in her mind furiously spinning. Zander looked at me through moist eyes, and I could see that he was afraid. He nervously tore through a package of Twizzlers.

  Talal, at least, knew where we were headed. I hoped he could help us. We drove the rest of the way in silence, broken only by the sound of Dane’s laughter in the front seat. A mouse was beating a cat over the head with a giant hammer. The kid thought it was hysterical.

  Back in the vast lobby of the estate, I paused to shed what was left of my costume. It had started to fall apart five minutes after I put it on in the first place. A round K & K logo hung between individual portraits of the brothers, each in his own golden frame. I hadn’t studied the paintings my first time through the estate. The paintings gave a puzzling effect. Each portrait was a head shot, tightly focused on the brother’s face. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something about the paintings seemed unnatural.

  As a group, we walked down the same hallways I’d walked before. Dr. Halpert, smooth and ever smiling, led the way. I held Dane’s hand, sticky from Skittles, while Gia and Zander came next. The thuggish guard took up the rear, his face impassive as always. I stopped to tie my shoe, lagging behind, furtively glancing around for some kind of clue. Where’s the nurse? I wondered.

  “Come along, this way,” Dr. Halpert chirped with birdlike insistence. The large bodyguard placed a thick hand on my back and shoved me forward.

  Gia caught me, leaned in close to my ear. “Got you,” she whispered.

  “You do?”

  Dr. Halpert stamped his heel sharply on the parquet floor. “Really, I must insist, no more delays!” He recovered to flash a false smile at Dane, then pivoted his gaze to me. The smile disappeared. We stood outside the same door I had entered a few days ago. His hand reached for the knob.

  “I’ll cooperate,” I said. “But I want to see them first.”

  Dr. Halpert’s head tilted, unsure of what I was asking.

  “Not in this room, not on TV.” I gestured to the door farther up the hallway. Where I had seen the nurse on my last visit. “In that room. Face-to-face. Or no deal.”

  The doctor’s eyes narrowed. He stood fully erect, shoulders pulled back. And once again, his fingers stroked the sides of his thick mustache.

  “Very well, I will see what my employers think of your proposal,” he purred. “Wait here. And do not move, do not try to leave.” He nodded at the guard, who instantly squeezed his meaty fingers around Gia’s and Zander’s arms.

  Moments later, we entered the darkened inner chamber of the legendary Bork brothers. Faint light fell from a chandelier without quite reaching the carpeted floor. The twins were propped up by pillows on a wide bed, and they watched without emotion as we entered. Heavy blankets were pulled high, nearly to their chins. Their heads, I saw, seemed in unnaturally close proximity. Their necks were twisted like old tree limbs, as if it pained them to look forward.

  Two brothers in the same bed?

  That close together?

  “Step forward, Adrian,” Kristoff said. This was his true voice. Thin and brittle.

  Gia, Zander, and Dane huddled behind me.

  “They only want me,” I assured them. “It’s all right. We’ll go home soon. Together.”

  I moved to the edge the bed. Tubes and wires ran from under the blankets to a station of complex medical equipment, computers, and flashing screens. The young nurse sat in a nearby chair, hands delicately folded on her lap. She had red lip
s, blond hair, and the pale, slender neck of a white swan. Today she wore lemon-colored surgical scrubs.

  Kristoff spoke. “Forgive the darkness. As you can see, we are frail old men, sensitive to the light, like fine wine stored in musty cellars.”

  His voice crackled. He paused to take shallow breaths after every few words, as if it took a strenuous effort merely to speak a sentence.

  The other brother, Kalvin, peered at me through sunken pink eyes. He coughed a wet, phlegmy death rattle, and both men winced at once. Kalvin’s head rolled from side to side as if he were about to fall asleep.

  “Do you not yet understand?” Kristoff asked. “Doctor, the blanket, if you please.”

  Dr. Halpert bent forward and gently, slowly folded the blanket down to the waist, revealing the secret that the Borks had kept hidden from the world all these years. They were joined at the torso. They shared one chest and wore baby-blue silk pajamas. I shivered. The air felt exceptionally cold, as if the conjoined twins had been kept refrigerated, like rare orchids at a florist’s shop. It struck me that Kristoff and Kalvin had likely been attached to machines all their lives, necks unnaturally twisted so they wouldn’t have to stare continuously into the other’s face. It was hard to tell exactly where the machines ended and the men began.

  WHEN IT RAINS

  “A pretty picture, are we not?” Kristoff said in a thin, weak voice. He chuckled softly. “So now, at last, you see our predicament.”

  I moved to the very edge of the bed, where the twins lay. Kalvin seemed even sicker in real life, his weary head now sunken into the soft pillow, eyes open but vacant, a string of spittle dribbling from his mouth. A battery of machines beeped and whirred against the wall. There was a silver oxygen tank beside the bed.

  “This time we meet under less pleasant circumstances,” Kristoff hissed, lingering, snakelike, on each S sound. “You have not been cooperative.”

  Exhausted from the effort, he let his head fall back against the pillow. The nurse moved to adjust the liquid dripping into the IV tube that ran into his arm.

  She then stepped to the far side of the bed and brought a small penlight to Kalvin’s eyes. The old man stared blankly, stupefied, unseeing. She bent close and frowned.