Zombified Read online

  “Okay, then,” he said and he motioned to a Humvee that blocked access to the road. The huge vehicle backed up just enough for us to squeeze past, and then we were back on our way. This time on the freeway with only a few freight trucks for company.

  “That was interesting,” Phil said.

  “Yeah,” I said. “They’re always like that.”

  “Well, he got one thing right,” Phil said. “You’re pretty easy on the eyes.”

  Joy won out over guilt, and I flashed Phil a smile. “Are you flirting with me, sir?” I asked. “Because it might just work.”

  “Easier on the eyes than Brandon, anyway,” Phil said.

  I laughed pretty hard because the joke had been so unexpected. Then I started to slap at him with my free hand. He was laughing, too, then a truck honked at us because I was weaving all over the road. That sobered us up.

  “Punk,” I said as I regained control of the Subaru.

  “That reminds me,” Phil said and he went back to his backpack. He brought out a big stack of CDs. “Travel music!” he said.

  “It’s only a forty-five-minute trip,” I said eying the mountain of tunes.

  “True,” he said, “but I don’t know what you like, so I brought a little of everything. This is music that I listen to as I draw.”

  Turns out that Phil had angry taste in music. It was all punk bands. The Ramones, The Clash, Black Flag, Misfits. I thought about giving him some guff by asking if he had any Green Day, but I didn’t want to push things. We ended up listening to The Cramps. I don’t know if I really liked it, but it was so loud that there was no way for us to talk, so that was a plus.

  Phil was about to throw another CD into the player when I told him to hold up.

  “There’s Portland,” I said as we negotiated the weird freeway interchange that took us to the 405. The city is split in two by the Willamette River. The west side is completely shut off to humans—well, humans who are sane or aren’t running criminal empires. Folks still get into the east side sometimes, mostly to shoot at zombies across the river, but there were no people out that day.

  Phil pressed his face against the window as we drove.

  “My aunt and uncle talk all the time about how they used to come up here,” he said. “They’d go to restaurants, shows, parks . . .”

  “My dad does that, too,” I said. “Portland sounds like it used to be pretty cool.”

  “I’ve only ever seen it from the freeway,” he said.

  “Well,” I said, “you’ll get a lot closer look today.”

  I found the exit and drove past another Humvee. The soldier behind the wheel gave us a mock salute, and then we were in the city: two of maybe a couple dozen humans among all those walking dead.

  It took me a minute to remember how to get to Buddha’s place, but then things started to look familiar again and I got us where we were going. We parked up the hill from him, at a dilapidated baseball stadium visible just over the horizon. When we got out of the car, I checked my pistol and pulled my flannel closer to my body. I wished I’d brought a coat. Even though the sun was out, it was still pretty cold.

  “We’ll leave the doors unlocked,” I said to Phil. I whispered. Just because we didn’t see any zombies didn’t mean there were none around. They more or less owned the city after all.

  “Makes sense to me,” he said.

  Phil joined me on the street. “We’re going to walk down this hill,” I told him. “When we get down there, you’ll see a big brick apartment building to the right. That’s Buddha’s building. Last time I was here, there was a big mob of zombies we had to get through. I hope that’s not the case this time.”

  “Me, too,” Phil said. He looked a little queasy.

  “Let’s go,” I said, “and let’s be quiet.”

  As we walked down the middle of the road, I realized that Phil wasn’t carrying his nail-studded baseball bat. That was why he looked uneasy when I mentioned zombies. He hadn’t expected to encounter any. Well, I hoped he was right.

  We paused at the top of the hill to look down at the apartment building below. No sign of shufflers. Excellent. I waved Phil on, and in just a few minutes we stood in front of the building’s entrance—a door equipped with a keypad and an electronic lock. The last time I’d been here, with Brandon and Sherri, this door had been ajar and the lobby full of Zs. That was not the case this time, thank God.

  “I hope he hasn’t changed the code,” I said as I punched in numbers. There was a very satisfying click as I hit the last number. I held the door open for Phil and made sure to close it behind me.

  I stood for a moment, looking out at the trees that lined the opposite side of the street. I thought I’d seen something over there. Actually, it’d be more accurate to say that I felt like I’d seen something. But no matter how hard I stared, I didn’t see anything more.

  “Is there a problem?” Phil asked.

  “Nope,” I said. “Just jitters.”

  “This is a pretty jittery place,” he said.

  The elevator doors slid open when I pushed the up button and we climbed inside. Buddha told me once that he’d disabled the Muzak system in here as soon as he became the building’s sole occupant. I thought about that every time I rode in that elevator.

  We got off when the doors opened on the sixth floor.

  “There’s only one door in the hallway?” Phil asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. There used to be a few apartments, but after everyone left, Buddha had all the walls knocked down and turned it into one huge space.

  “You ready for this?” I asked as we stood in front of that one door.

  “Doesn’t really matter,” he said. “We’re here now.”

  “Phil,” I said, “you’re a philosopher.”

  I knocked. We heard something going on on the other side of the door. Someone walking around, maybe people talking, and something else I couldn’t quite make out.

  The door opened, and I was surprised that a girl was the one opening it. I’d been let in by some of Buddha’s thugs before, guys with mean eyes who never smiled, and of course Buddha had let me in plenty, but this was the first time I’d ever seen another female. When I called her a girl, I wasn’t exaggerating. I don’t think she was much older than me and Phil. She was gorgeous—tall and thin, with brown skin and dark eyes. I blushed when I realized she was wearing a man’s button-up shirt and nothing else.

  I wondered what Phil was thinking beside me.

  “We’re here to see Buddha,” I said.

  “Well, who else would you be here to see,” she said.

  Everything mostly looked the same as I remembered it. He’d gotten a new couch, and I’d never figure out how he got new things delivered to a city that was officially quarantined. Other than that, this girl was the only thing new in the apartment. Same stereo system, same bar, same art on the walls. Maybe the TV was new, it was hard to tell.

  Buddha came out of one of the back rooms, all smiles. All he wore was a pair of jeans and a smile. His chica must have been wearing his only shirt. He looked the same, too. Long silver hair, pirate mustache—good-looking for someone older than my dad.

  “There you are,” he said to me. “I’ve missed that face. I see you met Precious.”

  The girl rolled her eyes and flopped onto the couch without speaking.

  “Yes,” I said. “We’re great friends now.”

  “Speaking of friends . . .” Buddha said.

  “Oh, right,” I said. “This is Phil.”

  Phil stepped forward and reached out his hand. “Hello, sir,” he said.

  Buddha looked at his outstretched hand like it was some undiscovered species of slug, then he broke into a huge grin. He gripped Phil’s hand with both of his.

  “Hello, son,” Buddha said. “This fella has much better manners than the last one you brought over here.”

  Phil shot me a raised eyebrow.

  “Brandon,” I said, and the eyebrow sank back into the depths of Phil’
s forehead.

  Buddha sat on the couch next to Precious and she wrapped herself around him like a friendly cat.

  “Grab something out of the fridge if you want,” Buddha told me.

  I went behind the bar to the dorm fridge he kept there. “Want anything?” I asked Phil.

  “Is there juice?”

  “Orange or pineapple?”

  “Pineapple, please,” he said.

  Buddha laughed. “Where’d you find someone with such good manners, Courtney?”

  “He followed me home one day, and Dad said I could keep him.” I winked at Phil to let him know I was just playing.

  “Phil, right?” Buddha asked him. “Have a seat.”

  Phil sat on the love seat across from Buddha and Precious. Brandon and Sherri had sat there the last time we’d all come here. The time we smoked Vitamin Z and Sherri ended up dying.

  “How are those drinks coming?” Buddha asked. “Want to bring me a Dos Equis?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Anything for you?” I asked Precious. I refused to actually speak a name that dumb out loud.

  “No, I’m fine,” she said.

  “She’s fine,” Buddha repeated and he ran his hand up and down her thigh. Gag.

  I got our drinks and came back to the living room. I gave Buddha his beer, then flopped onto the love seat next to Phil and handed him his juice.

  “Before I forget,” Buddha said. He dug into the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out a little baggie full of Z. “Don’t do anything stupid with that.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “And that’s on the house,” he said. Precious shot him a look like he’d just said he was giving up the drug business to become a missionary.

  I thanked him again, and then something popped into my head and I just had to ask him.

  “Have you been changing the formula on this?” I asked. “Like, since I stopped selling it?”

  He gave me a weird look, then said, “My chemists are always tinkering with the makeup of Z. We’re always looking to maximize our customers’ experience. Why do you ask?”

  “Just wondering,” I said. I didn’t know how to tell him I suspected that zombies were getting faster and smarter because he’d been altering his formula from the original recipe. Anyway, since it was just a suspicion, I thought I’d keep it to myself for now. I’d just tell Dr. Keller when I got him the sample.

  “So, what’s new in the real world?” Buddha asked.

  “Here’s something,” I said. “You’re going to have to hang out a Help Wanted sign again.”

  Phil shot me a look.

  “How’s that?” Buddha asked.

  “Brandon,” I said. “He’s dead.”

  His face clouded over, got red, and then returned to the same placid state it almost always exhibited. I had a feeling that looking so serene took a lot of work for him.

  “How’d that happen?” he asked.

  “He overdosed,” I said. “I was there, unfortunately.”

  Buddha rubbed a hand through his hair. “That’s too bad,” he said. “I liked that kid. But I had told him to lay off the product. You were there when it happened, huh?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “It was at my house.”

  There was that same weird look he’d given me when I asked about the Vitamin Z formula.

  “And . . . ?” he asked.

  “And what?”

  “Courtney,” he said, “you know what I’m asking.”

  “I do,” I said. “No, he didn’t stay dead. Or, at least, he didn’t stay down.”

  “Did you put him back down?” Buddha asked. “I know your reputation in that department.”

  “No,” I said. “He got away from me, but I’ll be keeping an eye out for him.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to be him,” Buddha said. He turned his attention to Phil. “How about you? Are you a badass zombie killer, too?”

  Precious smirked at that. I bit my tongue before I said something I’d regret.

  “I do what I can,” Phil said. “Mostly I try to stay out of the way.”

  “Sure,” Buddha said. “Say, let me ask you something.”

  I’d never find out what he wanted to know. Just then the phone in the other room began to ring. Buddha rose to answer it, shedding Precious like a sexy lap blanket. Then the lights went out and the phone stopped ringing.

  “What the hell?” Buddha said.

  Phil and I exchanged a look. Buddha was supposed to have a generator in the basement that was meant to keep the lights running no matter what.

  A cell phone started to buzz. Buddha reached into his pocket and pulled out the phone. He thumbed it to life.

  “What?” he said. He listened, shooting a look at me and Phil. “How many?” he asked. “Uh-huh. Get everyone down to the lobby,” he said. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  He killed the call and tossed the phone to Precious. “Hold that for me,” he said. He stalked over to the window at the far end of the apartment. “Sounds like we have more guests,” he said. He threw open the curtains, exposing floor-to-ceiling windows. “Son of a bitch.”

  Phil and I jumped up and ran to the window.

  “What is it, baby?” Precious asked from the couch, her voice small like she was crawling inside herself.

  It looked like every zipper in Portland was converging on Buddha’s apartment. Leaning over and trying to look straight down, I saw that there was already a mass of them smashing against the windows down there.

  “What are they doing?” Phil asked.

  “Do you still use the basement as a warehouse?” I asked.

  “What do a bunch of zombies want with some barrels of Vitamin Z?” Buddha asked. He wasn’t trying to maintain the serene mask anymore, and it was a little scary.

  “I don’t know,” I said, “except that a lot of them probably died of drug overdoses. Maybe they still crave it?”

  Buddha laughed. “Junkie shufflers? Is that what you’re saying?” He laughed some more, but I didn’t think he found it too funny.

  “We need to get out of here,” I said.

  “You take your friend and get out,” Buddha said. “No way am I leaving my home and my business to these assholes. We’ll hold them on the first floor, no problem.”

  “Some of the new ones are fast,” I said. “Some can open doors and climb stairs.”

  “Well, ain’t that something?” he asked. “Okay. You two get, and you take Precious with you.”

  “I’m not going,” she said. I jumped because she was standing right behind us. When did she get up and come over? “I’m staying here with you. No matter what.”

  Buddha smiled and wrapped his arms around her. “Oh, baby,” he whispered and he gave her a deep kiss. “You’re so stupid, you remind me of me at your age.” He nodded to me and Phil. “Avoid the elevator. There’s a stairway access on the far side of this room, I’ll show you. I’d avoid the ground floor, too. Make your way down to the basement. There’s a tunnel in the northeast corner that leads out to Twentieth.”

  “Uh,” said Phil.

  “What is it, son?” Buddha asked.

  “I don’t have a weapon,” he said. “I didn’t think I’d need one.”

  Buddha thought on that for a moment. “I think I can get you kitted out. How are you fixed, Courtney?”

  I showed him my pistol. “And I have some ammo in speed loaders,” I told him.

  He disappeared into his bedroom and I heard him rummaging around. He emerged a few moments later. He held a matte black shotgun in his hands.

  “It’s a Remington .12 gauge,” he said as he handed it to Phil. “Nothing fancy, but it will do the trick. It’s carrying a full load now, and there are fifteen extra shells on the strap. Okay?”

  “Yes, sir,” Phil said. “This should be fine.”

  “Manners,” Buddha said with a smile. “You two be safe. I gotta get dressed and help my boys downstairs.”

  With that, he turned back into the room. Precious f
ollowed him a second later. That left me and Phil standing there looking dumb.

  “Let’s go,” I said. My mouth was so dry I had trouble talking. I hadn’t drunk any of my Pepsi.

  We walked to the far end of the living space and rounded a corner. This was a part of the apartment I’d never seen before. Buddha had a mini-arcade back here. Pool table, dartboard, and several video games—one of which was a zombie hunter type. There was also a doorway with a red EXIT sign hanging above it.

  “Let me go first,” Phil said.

  “Why, because you’re a strong man and I can’t take care of myself?”

  “No, you idiot,” he said. “Because if I try to shoot past you with this, I’ll probably blow your head off.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Right. You go first.”

  He pushed open the door and poked his head inside. A second later, he pulled his head out and looked at me.

  “Clear as far as I can tell,” he said. “Come on.”

  He pulled the door open all the way and stepped through. I took a deep breath and followed him.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I Need the Room

  As quietly as we were able, we raced down the concrete steps. Since the power had been cut, eerie red emergency light filled the space. At each landing, Phil paused to look and listen. How he was able to hear anything over the sound of our ragged breathing, I had no idea. Eventually he’d decide everything was okay and we’d move on.

  As we descended the stairs, the sound of gunfire coming up from the lobby got louder and louder. It sounded like World War III down there. When we reached the ground floor landing, we heard men shouting—and screaming—on the other side of the door. The smell of cordite nearly made me gag.

  “Should we try to help them?” Phil asked.

  “No,” I said as something thudded against the stairwell door. “We need to get out now,” I said.

  Without another word on the topic, Phil continued down the stairs. We got to the bottom and stood before a door marked with a huge B. Phil pressed his ear against the door and listened. “I don’t hear anything,” he said.

  “That might be either good or bad,” I said. “I don’t think there are ever many guys in the basement. Anyone who was in there probably went up to the lobby to join the fight.”