A Living Dead Love Story Series (9 page)

“Really,” I say, backing away, “it's not very far and I'll be just—”

Chloe steps toward me. “We weren't asking.”

I gulp and hold my bag-o-brains closer to my chest as I stumble along between them, Dane in the front, Chloe right behind me.

Dane leads us to a beat-up truck with primer splatters all over it. With an embarrassed smile, he says, “Your chariot awaits, madam.”

Chloe slugs him on the arm and shoves me inside before climbing in next to me. Dane swiftly rounds the corner and slides into the driver's seat so I'm safely wedged between them.

“First things first,” he says, strapping me in. “We need to get those brains on ice. Secondly, you need a copy of
The Guide
. Lastly, you need to meet the Elders, stat.”

“What's the—?”

Chloe interrupts me with an elbow jab to the side. “We'll explain on the way.”

W
E RIDE IN
silence the whole way to their place. There is no more talk of zombie this or
Guide
that, or brains that or Elders this or, for that matter, the Curse of Third Period Home Ec. In fact, the mood in Dane's pickup grows slowly more somber the closer we get to the wrong side of town. Finally, Dane pulls the truck into the Mangrove Manor trailer park.

The truck trundles down the rutted road until we pull up in front of Trailer 17, a green-on-green number with a precariously leaning carport.

“Home sweet home,” Chloe says, getting out and beckoning me to join her.

I stay put, clinging to my brain bag. “I really need to get home, you guys. My dad will be expecting me, and—”

Dane shuts the engine off. “Maddy, listen, no one's going to hurt you. We're your friends. In fact, right now, in your …situation …we're the only friends you've got. There's a lot you need to know and not a lot of time to know it in. Frankly, even if we
wanted
to let you go now, we can't. There are things that need to be taken care of. Right now. That little zombie website you probably visited? The one that told you to eat brains right away? Well, that's only the beginning. We have a lot to do and not a lot of time.”

I sit there, still nestled safely beneath my seat belt, and say, “If this is the Afterlife, then don't I have all the time in the world?”

Chloe laughs, leaning against the truck impatiently. “Oh sure, you've got forever to figure all this out. And it will take some time, trust us. But for now, for
right
now, it's our duty to get you checked out, report you to the Elders, and get you a copy of
The Guide
, or we're all in lots of trouble.”

“Trouble?” I finally slide out of the truck. “What kind of trouble?”

“The permanent kind,” Chloe says in a tone that leaves no room for argument or, for that matter, any further questions. She tromps up the rusted steps leading to the front door and swings it open without knocking. I follow slowly, expecting a house of horrors inside. You know, skull candleholders buried in dripped black candle wax, dark red walls, black curtains over the sink, a goat chained to the corner for their next sacrifice—that kind of thing.

Instead, I find a spotless living room with (color me surprised) cherry hardwood floors, eggshell painted walls, and moderately sophisticated black-and-white wall art. A funky retro lamp featuring half a dozen arms is in one corner facing the door; a fake (but a pretty good fake) potted plant is in the other; and in between is a wicker love seat with a matching coffee table and two side chairs. It's kind of dorm chic meets runaway classy.

As I follow Chloe into the trailer, Dane tags along right behind me. With a gentle hand, he pries my 10 pounds of brains from me and walks into a small but clean kitchen. He pulls one of those Igloo Playmate lunch coolers from under the sink, dumps the ice tray from the freezer inside, and puts the brains on top before closing the cooler and setting it on top of a table for four.

There are only three chairs, and he pats an empty one. “Come here, Maddy.” His gentle voice is deep and dark and three shades of, dare I say, sexy? “We have a few things to sort out before we get going.”

I try to think of what he means by “get going” and have no idea. All I know is that I'm dead but not dead, that I'm a zombie but not alone. There are other zombies in this town, and should I be so surprised they're Dane and Chloe?

“First, an introduction is in order,” Chloe says, pointing to herself. “I'm Zombie Number 1. Dane is Zombie Number 2 …” Her voice trails off, and they both look at me expectantly.

“I guess that makes me”—I swallow, twice, before finishing—”Zombie Number 3?”

Chloe smiles proudly, like I've just learned to spell my name in red crayon.

Dane explains in a conspiratorial whisper, “She's only Zombie Number 1 because she's the oldest.” Then he slides out his chair and asks, “How'd it happen? I mean, I'm assuming it was tonight's lightning strike, but what were you doing out in it?”

“Jogging.” I'm tempted to tell him more, to brag about Stamp and how the hottest new guy in school asked me to the hottest party of the week and how I stupidly decided to walk there—in the rain, with thunder rolling in and lightning not too far behind—but something holds me back.

Chloe eyes me dubiously. “Jogging? In a thunderstorm? Good thinking, Maddy.”

“Hey”—I laugh, trying to keep the lie in play—“it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

But Dane's not smiling, not really. Not that he's a smiley type of guy in the first place, but now his thin lips are straight and set and he's looking at me very, very carefully. He opens his mouth to add something, or maybe even
ask
something, then pauses. His eyes are deep and dark and probing, like maybe he knows I'm leaving something—okay, a lot of somethings—out. Then he snaps out of it, blinks twice, and asks, “So, how'd it
feel?”

I sit across from him. “I dunno. I was passed out for a couple of hours afterward, so …”

“The Awakening,” he whispers almost reverently, like a geek sitting in the front row when the new
Star Wars
trailer comes on the screen.

“I'm sorry?”

“That was the Awakening,” he explains, louder this time. “We all go through it. The time frame is different for everybody. For some of us it only lasts a few minutes; for you it was a few hours; some of us, like Chloe here, can lie there for days. That's why so many of us wake up in graves. If the Awakening lasts longer than a day or two, well, most folks assume you're dead. They just don't assume you're going to wake up.”

“I don't understand. I thought zombies bit each other and you caught some virus in your blood and—”

“Bull,” Chloe says. “Hollywood bull. You
can
bite someone and make them a zombie, but it's not what's in our blood that turns them. After all, you know by now your blood's no longer pumping. It's electricity;
that's
what turns them.”

“It's why zombies can only date other zombies,” Dane says, his voice steadily rising as he looks me in the eyes.

“That's crazy, though,” I practically shout back, thinking of Stamp, of the way he looked embarrassed asking me to the party this afternoon, of how relieved he looked when I said yes, of his chocolate chip eyes and sporty bicep and how good it was going to feel around my warm, soft, undead shoulder. And how all of that is gone now, forever, and now these two are the ones to tell me all about it. And is it just me, or is Dane actually
happy
to tell me about it?

“Is
it so crazy?” Chloe asks.

“Think about it.” Dane's sitting up in his chair. “You're getting all hot and heavy with some Normal guy, you forget yourself in the heat of the moment, go to give him a little love tap on the neck, bite a little harder than you meant to, and—
zap
—just like that, meet Zombie Number 4. Is that what you
really
want for someone you supposedly care about?”

When I don't answer right away, he adds, “And let's say this Normal is one of those lucky zombies whose Awakening only lasts a minute or two, or maybe an hour. He goes home, he doesn't know what he is yet, and he's sitting there at the dinner table; instead of steak and potatoes he decides, in a weak moment, to munch on Mom and Dad. Meet Zombies Number 5 and 6. And let's say the neighbors stop by with a housewarming gift right then. Meet Zombies Number 7 and 8. And they go home and bite two friends, and they go home and bite two friends. It's how whole towns get infested, Maddy.”

“B-b-but that's not fair. I'd be careful. I wouldn't want this for …anybody.”

Dane waves a hand dismissively. “It doesn't matter if it's fair or not.” He taps a thick, green book nestled between the salt and pepper shakers on the table. “The Council won't allow it. You're a zombie now, Maddy. Part of a very, very select group. We have rules, procedures, protocols, laws. Law Number 1, Maddy, is that zombies don't date Normals. Period. End of story. I'm …sorry.”

“You don't
sound
very sorry,” I snap.

“Maybe not, but I really am. I know it's going to be hard, that you'll have lots of questions. That's why we're here. We're your chaperones, Maddy. Your guides to the Afterlife.” When I don't respond right away, he sighs and drums a little ditty on the big green book cover. “Did you tell her yet?” he asks Chloe, his voice low, eyes on me.

“Tell me what?”

Chloe shakes her head.

He frowns, then smiles. “No worries. We can tell her tonight; give her something to do on the long trip.”

“Tonight? What trip? I've got to get home, you guys. I don't know about you two, but I've got a dad who doesn't know I'm a zombie, and school tomorrow, and—”

“Don't worry.” Dane puts an ice cube hand on my Frigidaire wrist. “We have to go at night anyway; the Elders prefer it that way.”

“Elders?”

He and Chloe grin.

“It's all in here,” Dane says, sliding the big green book across the table. I glance briefly at the title:
The Guide to the Proper Care and Feeding of Zombies, 24
^th
Edition
.

Oh, great. Even when you're dead, you get homework.

I
'
VE GOT A
vocabulary test in second period,” I complain as Dane cruises past the city limits at precisely 3:07 a.m.

Chloe rests her head against her seat. “Relax, Maddy, you're going to be back in plenty of time to make second period. Besides, let's say you miss the test; let's say you fail the class. Heck, let's say you fail your entire junior year. Girl, you've got the rest of eternity to take your junior year over—and over and over.” She says it with a smile, like maybe that's what she's been doing for the last, oh, I dunno, 300 years or so.

“But I need to get some sleep if I'm going to do well.”

Dane laughs, and they give each other another one of their superior “inside joke” glances. “You wanna tell her, or should I?”

“You've got a better bedside manner,” she says, and it's the first time I've agreed with her all night.

He sighs. “Maddy, I don't know if you'll think this is good news or bad, but …zombies don't sleep.”

“Much?” I ask hopefully. “You mean, zombies don't sleep …
much?
Like Benjamin Franklin? Or Einstein? I hear they only slept four hours a night.”

Dane is already shaking his head. “Zombies don't need
any
sleep, Maddy. Ever.”

I look out the window, at the endless miles of dark road stretching out before us. “So what am I supposed to do all night?”

Dane shrugs.

“Well, you can catch up on your reading, for one thing,” Chloe says, tapping
The Guide
in my lap. “I'd start with that.”

After that the truck cab goes silent and I look at the book. Although it's dark in here, I can see the title on the cover as clearly as if the dome light were on:
The Guide to the Proper Care and Feeding of Zombies, 24
^th
Edition
. I open it, flip to a random page, and read this:

Sweet. Can't wait for the whole stiff-limb, yellow-teeth, shadow-under-the-eyes phase to kick in. I'll really be beating the guys off with a stick then.

I flip through some more pages and read this:

Awesome. Even in death you still have to play by the rules. What, is there zombie detention?

Next I turn to page 74 and find this little nugget:

The
post-zombie world?
What's that? The Island of the Pale, Stiff, and Yellow-Teethed? A prison camp for bad zombies? I look up to ask Dane, but his face is serious and focused on the road. I go to ask Chloe, but the permanent scowl on her Goth face makes me think twice. Finally, I start at the beginning and read
The Guide
until I can't take it anymore.