Zombified Page 14

  “Tell me if this isn’t all right,” I said.

  “No,” he said. “It’s fine.”

  Good, I thought.

  After we got settled, I said, “Guess who e-mailed me?”

  “No idea,” he said and I knew he was done with that game.

  “Dr. Keller,” I said, keeping any trace of pout out of my voice.

  He thought for a moment. “The TV professor guy!”

  “That’s right, Einstein, the TV professor guy.” I went on to recap what the e-mails said, ending with the good doctor’s suggestion that I might get my hands on a sample of Vitamin Z.

  “That seems like an odd request,” Phil said.

  “I think he was just throwing it out there,” I said. “Not that he was assuming I was some sort of drug kingpin. Anyway, I was wondering if it was okay to ask you a favor.”

  “You can ask,” he said.

  “Cute,” I said and pinched his side. He slapped me away. “Any chance you’ll come up with me to visit Buddha?” I asked. “I already called him—I’m going up Tuesday.”

  “And if I don’t go with you, you’ll go up alone?”

  “Yes,” I said. “But don’t make that the reason you come. If you’re coming.”

  He scratched his chin. “I think I can make room in my schedule on Tuesday,” he said.

  “Only if it’s not too much bother,” I said. “I know how many demands there are on your time.” I looked up at him and he craned his neck to look back. “I do appreciate it. Thanks.”

  We talked for a while. I asked him to tell me about the cartooning school he wanted to go to. Turns out it was in New Jersey, not far from NYC. We’d be able to see each other while I was going to Columbia.

  While we talked, I snuggled in closer. I started, you know, rubbing his chest with my free hand. He shifted and cleared his throat, but he didn’t say anything. We kept talking about future plans and I decided to go for it—I let my hand travel south to see what it might find.

  Phil jumped like I’d electrocuted him. He pushed me away.

  “What are you doing, Courtney?”

  I sat up and scooted farther away from him.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” I asked. “I’m trying to seduce you.”

  “Is that what that was?” he asked. “Because I thought maybe you were checking me for a hernia.”

  “Jesus Christ, Phil.” How repulsive did he find me that even the direct approach didn’t work on him?

  “Jesus Christ what?” he asked.

  I put my head in my hands. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I was having to explain to Phil why I was upset that he found me to be some sort of monster or, worse, he considered me a sexless friendbot.

  “Most guys would like that,” I said.

  “Is that why you like me?” he asked. “Because I’m like most other guys.”

  Him making a valid point made me angry.

  I stood up and slumped into the armchair. “We’ve been hanging out all summer, all school year,” I said, “and you haven’t expressed any interest in me.” I paused and took a deep breath. Then I closed my eyes and said, “You know . . . sexually.”

  “And that’s a problem?” he asked.

  “Right now it feels like it,” I said.

  He didn’t say anything for a bit, but his jaw was working like he had a piece of gum in his mouth.

  “First,” he said, “that’s not true. I think it’s more accurate to say that I haven’t tried to get physical with you, right?”

  “Well, why haven’t you?” I asked.

  “Courtney,” he said. He said it slow and careful, like he was talking to a kid. Or like he was angry that he had to be saying any of this at all. “Courtney, I like you, but there’s no way I want to rush into something physical. I didn’t know if you were ready, hell, I don’t know if I’m ready.”

  “I think me grabbing your junk is a clear sign that I’m ready,” I said. I was trying to make a joke to lighten the mood. The look on his face told me I’d failed.

  “You realize that the only reason I’m here tonight,” he said, “is because you invited over your ex, he OD’d and became a zombie, and now we need to keep watch for him, right? Forgive me if I find that to be something of a boner-killer.”

  “Oh, Jesus,” I said. “I’ve really screwed this up.”

  “Courtney, listen,” Phil said and he sat forward. “I have a lot of anxieties. About everything. About sex. I’ve never been with anyone, I’ve never kissed anyone, okay?”

  “Me, neither,” I said.

  He stopped and I know he kept himself from asking, “Really?” Which was good. That question would have derailed the progress we’d been making in the last couple of minutes.

  “Okay,” he said. “So you get where I’m coming from. I’m sorry if you’ve mistaken my, um, hesitancy as disinterest. It’s not that. I have trouble reading people and I honestly couldn’t tell if you liked me, too.”

  “Me probing your crotch wasn’t a good indicator of interest,” I said. This time he did laugh.

  “It was subtle,” he said, “but I think I got it. Now you know that I have anxieties, and now I know you have them, too. That will make things easier in the future.”

  Or much more awkward. But I didn’t say it out loud.

  “But nothing’s going to happen tonight,” he said. “Not under the circumstances. I’m sorry if that upsets you.”

  “Not upset,” I said, and I stood up. “Maybe a little sad, but I can’t knock you for telling me what you’re thinking. Maybe I should have tried it myself a little.”

  He stood up, too. There we were, facing each other, close in that little space between the chair and the couch. I was willing to stand there a long time. He gave me a half smile.

  “How about we go to sleep?” he asked. “I can take the couch.”

  And there were my hopes, raised up and dashed in the space of two sentences.

  “Let me get you some blankets and stuff,” I said.

  As I turned to go, he reached out and stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. He put his other hand on my chin and lifted my startled face up to meet his own. He kissed me. His lips were soft. I remember that. Then I realized I didn’t really know what to do with my own lips. I was never one of those girls who practiced kissing with a teddy bear or a mirror. Mostly I resisted the urge to grab his head and eat his face in a good way. So, I just kind of probed his lips with my own. He smelled good, like mint gum, and faintly of some aftershave.

  When I felt him breaking the kiss, when I knew it was almost over, I darted my tongue out of my mouth, just the tip, and tasted him. I always expected French kissing to be weird. Like, you’re licking another person; won’t they taste just like you? No, I learned the moment my tongue touched his receding lips, no, they don’t taste just like you. They taste electric, they taste like magic, they taste like them, they taste like not-you.

  I can’t remember whether or not I whimpered when he broke the kiss.

  He smiled at me. “There, we’ve both had our first kiss. It’ll take some of the pressure off, right?”

  Take the pressure off? The sensations I was feeling south of my waistband told me that Phil had no idea what the hell he was talking about, but I didn’t want to spoil the moment.

  “It was nice,” I said.

  “Yeah,” he said. “It was.”

  “Let me go get those blankets,” I said.

  Jesus, I was going to need to take a cold shower before I went to bed. If the tent in Phil’s pants was any indication, so would he. Well, I guess I was happy I wasn’t the only one going to bed frustrated.

  The next day, Phil called Cody. Then Cody showed up with his dad in a big panel van. His dad was squat and barrel-chested. He had Popeye forearms, complete with an anchor tattoo, which I barely made out through the thick, black hair that covered him. There was something chimp-like about Cody’s dad, and I didn’t think that as an insult, but I also kept it to myself.

  He an
d Cody pulled the plywood down and assessed the situation.

  “Oh, yeah,” he said. “I got some scraps in the van’ll fix that up. Give me half an hour and it’ll be better than new.”

  I hoped it didn’t look so much better that Dad might notice when he got home, but I wasn’t in a position to argue.

  “How much will it cost, sir?” I asked.

  He looked at me like I was some sort of talking dog.

  “Sir?” he asked, then barked out a laugh. “You could learn something from her about manners.” This was directed at Cody, who just rolled his eyes. “Naw, for a friend of this one, no charge. Like I said, I’ll use scraps.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I said. “I appreciate that.”

  It took him a lot less than half an hour. I was impressed by how efficient he was. Competency is always impressive.

  “You never told me your dad was so cool,” I said to Cody. We sat in the kitchen while his dad did his thing in the bedroom. Everyone had an off-brand soda in front of them.

  “Yeah,” said Cody, “you caught him in a good mood. Calling him ‘sir’ was a good move. Smart.”

  “I wasn’t gaming him,” I said. “I really was being polite.”

  “Aren’t they different names for the same thing?” he asked. Phil laughed and Cody smiled at his own little joke. Very little.

  His dad called to us from the room and we all went to see his handiwork. I made a big deal of how great it all was. A bigger deal than I normally would have since he was doing the job for free. I figured I’d pay him with appreciation.

  He cleaned up and when he left, Cody asked him if he might stay with us.

  “Sure,” his dad said. “Just be home for dinner.”

  Cody agreed to this and we all went back to sit at the table.

  “Tell me again what happened,” he said.

  I rolled my eyes and told the story for what felt like the umpteenth time.

  “You’re sure he overdosed?” Cody asked when I was done. “You’re sure he turned into a zombie.”

  “Yes to both,” I said.

  “Wild!” he said. “This is just so crazy.”

  “But not in a good, Gnarls Barkley sort of way,” Phil said.

  “So, what are you gonna do about it?” Cody asked.

  “Do about it?”

  “Your ex-squeeze is running around out there,” he said, “one of the undead. What are you gonna do about it?”

  I grabbed their empty cans and carried them over to the sink to rinse them out.

  “I don’t know if there’s anything to do,” I said over the running water. “He’s another zombie now. If we come across him on one of our hunts, I’ll deal with him.” I turned off the water. “But I wouldn’t even know how to go about hunting for an individual zombie. It’s not like we have a tracer collar on him.”

  “We need to tell his dad, don’t we?” Phil asked.

  That stopped me short. I hadn’t thought about his dad. I wondered what their relationship had been like there at the end, after Brandon’s becoming a junkie was impossible to ignore. I’d never even met his dad. All I’d ever known about him was that he had a somewhat lackadaisical take on parental responsibility.

  “Courtney?”

  “I’m trying to think of a way to get out of that,” I said. I leaned against the kitchen counter and crossed my arms. Both the boys looked at me expectantly. I felt resentment welling up inside me. “Part of me thinks I should be the one to do it. Part of me wonders why the hell it’s my responsibility.”

  Phil shrugged. “He died here. After coming to visit you.”

  Right, that.

  “Want me to do it?” Phil asked.

  Oh, God, I didn’t even want to imagine how that might go.

  “No,” I said. “I’ll do it.”

  “Well,” Phil said, “if you don’t, I won’t hold it against you.”

  “Yeah, it’s not like you owe him anything,” Cody said. “I mean, isn’t he the guy who set us up as a zombie buffet last year?”

  We all fell silent. The mood hadn’t been exactly festive, but now it was positively goddamn morose.

  “I hate to leave like this,” Phil said, “but I need to make an appearance at home.” He stood up and Cody did the same.

  “And I ought to leave because you probably don’t want me to hang out here,” Cody said.

  “Want to come over to my place?” Phil asked.

  “No,” I said. “I have something I need to do.”

  We made tentative plans to get together later. I wanted so bad to give Phil another kiss as he left, but Cody was there like a five-and-a-half-foot-tall cockblock. Phil told me to call if I needed to after talking to Mr. Ikaros. I promised to do that.

  And then I set about putting off the phone call. I’d never wanted less to make a particular call ever. The only instance that came close was when I got caught shoplifting when I was fourteen and the store manager made me call Dad while we sat in this crappy little office. That was a pleasant chat compared to what this talk was going to be like.

  Luckily, I’m pretty good at procrastinating. First, I had to look up Mr. Ikaros’s number. While I was doing that, there was a whole World Wide Web to look at. The Army announced that January 2 was the day they’d start to reclaim NYC. This prompted me to update my Facebook status, which I knew from recent experience would be ignored unless Phil happened to log on to the site in the next day or two.

  Then I found some cleaning around the house that needed to be done. I was about to put on rubber gloves and attack the hallway bathroom when the ludicrousness of the situation hit me. In the great scheme of things, calling Brandon’s dad was more important than scrubbing a toilet that didn’t really need it.

  I sat at the kitchen table and stared at my phone for a long time before picking it up and punching in the numbers I’d found online.

  “Marcus and Welles Law Offices,” a woman answered on the first ring. “How may I direct your call?”

  “May I speak to . . .” I didn’t know his first name. “Mr. Ikaros?”

  A pause, then, “Mr. Ikaros is busy at the moment, may I—”

  “It’s about his son,” I said.

  Her tone was different when she answered. “Just a moment,” she said and then I was on hold.

  It wasn’t long before a gruff man’s voice came on the line.

  “If this is someone that my son owes money,” he said and I held the phone away from my ear because he was yelling so loud, “you need to know that I am no longer legally responsible for his debts!”

  “Mr. Ikaros?” I said.

  “Who is this?” he asked.

  “My name is Courtney,” I said. “I used to be a friend of Brandon’s.”

  “And this is about my son?” he asked. I found I wasn’t able to speak all of a sudden. “Well?” he prompted.

  “Sir,” I said, and my throat caught. I bit my lower lip until it passed. “Brandon is dead, sir.”

  Silence on the other end.

  “He died of a drug overdose last night.”

  “And how do you know this, Courtney?” he asked.

  “I . . . I . . .”

  “You were with him when he died. Is that it?” His voice was gentle now. Maybe not gentle, maybe just tired.

  “Do you know what hospital he’s in, Courtney?” Mr. Ikaros asked.

  “He’s not,” I said. “He died of a Vitamin Z overdose and, uh, and he . . .” My vision suddenly refracted like I was looking through a kaleidoscope. I blinked away tears.

  “I see,” he said. “Thank you for calling me, Courtney, but you have to understand that my son hasn’t been in my life for several months.”

  I bit my lip again, worried that I’d draw blood.

  “Brandon has been dead to me for a while, Courtney,” Mr. Ikaros went on. “I’ve just been waiting for the call to confirm it. Thank you for calling.”

  And then the line went as dead as Mr. Ikaros’s son.

  I put the phone dow
n on the table, lay my head beside it, and cried. I cried like it was a wild beast that needed to get out of me. At some point, I don’t remember when, I ended up on the floor. It was him saying, “Thank you for calling,” that did it. I kept hearing that line again and again, delivered like Mr. Ikaros was dead himself, but still remembered the finer points of etiquette.

  I stopped again and dragged myself into the shower, where I cried some more. Eventually, I stopped for good and took myself to the movies. I picked the dumbest-looking comedy that was available, anything to take my mind off what I’d just done. I craved something funny, needed it.

  I ended up crying through it anyway.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Nemesis

  Saturday I hung out with Phil and Cody at Phil’s house. His aunt was in a real tizzy since Phil had two friends over. She kept plying us with food and sodas. And not the off-brand crap, either, but actual brands that you might see in a national television ad campaign. It was great.

  We all commiserated about the horribleness that was my phone call with Mr. Ikaros. I even told them about my crying jag at the movies.

  “How many people were in there with you?” Cody asked.

  “Three,” I said. “They left after a while. Which was nice, I guess. They might have gotten the manager to kick me out.”

  “Rough,” Cody said.

  “Sorry I wasn’t there,” Phil said.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I’m sort of glad you didn’t see me. It was a pretty ugly cry.”

  Phil spent the rest of the afternoon before he had to go to work drawing. Cody and I sat on the floor reading comics and arguing points of nerd minutia like who would win in a fight between Superman and Thor, and who was the lamest superhero of all time. (The answer is Aquaman, by the way.)

  Later, Phil drove us home. Cody brought up going on a zombie hunt later, but I still wasn’t feeling up to it.

  “How about tomorrow?” he asked.

  “Tomorrow might work,” I said. I knew I needed to get my mind off the Brandon thing, and killing shufflers was guaranteed to do it.