Dead and Beloved (11 page)

I wake
to Nurse Jennings and a handful of helmeted officers standing over me. Behind them, a hundred faces look on. There are voices. I see Nurse Jennings talking, but everything is muffled as if we're underwater.

“I don't understand you,” I say. My own words are distant.

Everyone spins again and fog takes over the edges of my vision. Nurse Jennings lifts my head and the spinning stops.

“Stay with us, Ryan,” she tells me. Her voice is clear now.

I nod and then shoot alternate glances at the men surrounding me. I know this fate; I've been here before.

“Are you all right, kid?” asks one of the men. His voice surprises me. It's not vile hate. It doesn't hint at the cruel shoves I expect to receive. “Kid?”

“I don't want to go to the clinic,” I answer. “Don't make me go there.”

A dozen hands prop me to sit and I see the blood covering the carpet and splattered on the locker doors. Brooks is gone.

“No one is taking you anywhere, kid,” says the same man. “That was a brave thing you did. You're a hero.”

“Hero?” I squint, trying to discern if I'm in a dream.

“Yes, Ryan.” Nurse Jennings presses her palm against my forehead. “You saved Paige Vanderford. You saved everyone.”

Who is Paige? The scene still doesn't make sense to me. “Am I going to jail, then?”

“No, no.” The helmeted officer chuckles as he reaches a hand toward me. “Come on, let's get you home.”

There are phones, and stares, and smiling, and clapping all around me as I'm led to the SWAT van. During the ride to the hospital, the officers take turns shaking my hand and asking me to tell them what happened. I don't remember much and I still feel a little groggy, but I do my best recounting how Brooks transformed from a grumpy guardian to a violent zombie.

“The school is lucky you were there,” says one of the officers. The patch on his chest says Rodriguez. “This new batch is more violent than ever.” The other men nod.

“New batch?” I ask. “I don't understand.”

“We call them the formulas,” he answers. “They’ve had a bad reaction to the vaccine, or something. More violent than ever.”

The van stops. We've arrived at the hospital.

“That's why they're not allowed treatment,” says another officer as he unlatches the back of the van. “There's no hope for them.”

I don't get a chance to say or ask more; I'm quickly shuffled inside amid a flurry of commotion. Four nurses take me into the Scream Room and remove my clothes. Before another thought, the scrubbing begins.

~ O ~

School is cancelled until Monday, which gives me a lot of time to think. The hospital is quiet and basketball isn't the same as it used to be. There are only five of us in the gym and the game turns into a shoot around session, which I'm not into today. I keep thinking about Brooks, wondering what will happen to him. If the officer told me the truth, Brooks is destined to roam the streets looking for a flesh meal, or worse—he may have been shot already. I keep seeing his face in my mind, his eyes, and the anger they carried.

Everyone is different, too. Nurses whisper in the corners, then stop talking when I get near enough. The satellite feed in the lounge has been disconnected and now only movies are played on the screen. A few patients are reclined on the couches singing along to the Sound of Music. They're either heavily sedated or have completely lost their minds. I leave them and return to my room.

I think again about my promise to Jessica. I don't have a way to contact her and I can't ask anyone to send her an email for me. There's also my application essay to Stanford, sitting on my desk, waiting for me to finish. I look at my arm; the exposed flesh now runs across my entire forearm. Maybe there's no sense sending off my request anyway. Nurse Jennings told me I'm getting worse. I believe her.

If violent zombies are refused treatment, then I'm only months, or weeks, or days away. The news is lying to people. There's no magic formula with my blood. There's only death for anyone who has a bad reaction to the vaccine. It seems this is the moment to eradicate the Virus under a clever disguise of a cure.

I pull out the forms and look at them. The deadline was March first. I’ve missed my chance. Outside, screams and a po
p tell me someone else has been killed. My future is dying. I remember the book we read in English a few months ago. Love Letters. In the story, the man writes a heartfelt message of love to the woman and delivers it in a silver envelope. I don't have a silver envelope, but I have paper and a pen. I'm feeling vulnerable and helpless. My world is crashing down around me more than before.

Maybe I'm already dead, and this is my lingering memory, wandering the earth like a ghost or something. If it's a memory, I want to catch it. I don't want my life to end in a gunshot without first sharing what I feel. I pull out my notebook and begin to write.

Jessica,

I'm thinking about you. It's been a long time since I saw your face, since I heard your voice, since I felt your breath on my skin. I miss you. I miss you.

The world has gone crazy, and we're both caught in the panic that's taken over everything. Somehow, in the chaos of life, my fate has changed. Has yours?

There was a moment—it seems so long ago now—that we shared together. A moment when the world stopped and our breath joined together. I remember the sound of your voice, the taste of your lips, and the smell of your hair. I remember the words you whispered . . . and the promises we made.

Outside, there's another shot. It's closer to the hospital. I close the window blinds and climb onto my bed. Then I continue writing.

We're only given one life, one chance to experience this world. Somehow, my life has been altered and the only way to stay a part of it is this limited existence filled with more rules than anyone should have to follow. If I had my way, I'd be free and with you. But I'm not. And that's why I'm sending you this letter.

I don't know what's happened lately, but I'm scared, and I'm more alone than ever. All the dreams I had are slipping through my fingers. We're so far apart and you're so close to me—here in my memory, in my heart. I think about you all the time, and there are days that your image is all that gets me through the day.

Jessica, I know you must have plans. I know that a great and wonderful life is waiting for you. I never wanted to keep you from that. My only wish in finding you was that I could spend some time making memories.

There are those who say the end of this life is the end of everything. That when we close our eyes, there's nothing beyond the darkness. I don't believe that. I can't believe that. Because if it were true, then memories die. Memories are forever. I'm not asking for a lifetime of happiness, I'm asking for one night, one memory that will carry me through the darkness and into eternity.

Please give me that night. Come with me and together we'll live as life should be enjoyed, through company, and music, and dance. It will be a night to remember, Jessica. If you make it a night with me.

Spring Prom is one week from today. It's on April twenty-third at eight o’clock at the Capital building. I want you to be my date. Will you be my date? If that life I mentioned, the perfect one that's out of my reach, were possible, I'd drive to your house to pick you up. You would open the door. You would be so beautiful. I'd open my hand and you'd hold it. We would go inside and your parents would take pictures while you blush.

I'd give you a flower to put on your arm and you'd give me a kiss on the cheek.

I can't have that, but I want to see you on Saturday, dressed so beautiful with your hair done perfect and your blush so endearing. Will you please be my date for prom? And I'll see you there?

It's one night. One memory. The memory of a lifetime.

Ryan

A buzz at my door wakes me. I'm holding a pen in my hand and the notebook is lying on the bed near my face. It's bright outside and I don't know what day it is, but the clock says eight thirty. There's another buzz, then a nurse comes in.

“Ryan, are you okay?”

I wipe the sleep from my eyes. “Yes,” I answer. “I guess I fell asleep.”

“Since yesterday?”

I nod. “I must have been tired.”

She grimaces and notes information into her tablet. “You need your cleaning and prescriptions,” she orders me. “I'll give you five minutes to get downstairs.”

Today's scrubbing is the most painful I've ever known. One guard holds me while the nurse manages to make my skin completely red. There's a lot of discussion about the injuries from my fight with Brooks, and an administrator comes in to verify the information from my vitals check.

In the cafeteria, I'm given a double portion of protein that I don't refuse, more drugs, and a lot of water. After I'm finished, I start downstairs, but a guard tells me the lounge isn't available today. With a sigh, I return to my room and examine the letter to Jessica.

I don't have an envelope, and none of the nurses will go find one for me, so I decide to make one. I fold deep creases in the return envelope from Stanford and tear the paper as carefully as I can. It's crude, but it'll work. I decide I'll ask Ms. Reeves for some glue or tape tomorrow. I tuck it into my bag, along with the stamps I had intended to use for my application essays.

Protocol is different on Monday. I'm standing in the front lobby, waiting for Keller, but he never comes. The SWAT truck arrives and a pair of cops lead me to the back of the van. When I ask where Keller is, Rodriguez tells me he's not allowed into the school again. He also says that the rules have been changed regarding the school district. Any student who's had the vaccine can't return to school until certification from a doctor that they're safe, or they must wait a one week protocol.

“No doctor,” he tells me, “will sign off on anyone, so everyone must wait to see if the vaccine works or not. That makes you one of the lucky ones, kid. We know you're safe.”

That bites. I don't feel as safe as he's telling me.

Inside the school, the carpet on the first floor has been replaced. It's strange to walk the halls alone again. As I head to my locker, someone passes me and pats me on the back.

“Great job, Ryan,” he tells me.

I never see his face and he disappears into the crowd before I can respond. That's when I notice that people aren't scattering away from me. They're not running, screaming, or avoiding my touch. I'm bumping shoulders and elbows with the same students who refused to be around me before. At first, I'm shocked. I'm not used to the crowd, but then I find the feeling comforting. This is what I had been searching for when I decided to return to Viewmont. All I had to do was rip another zombie’s arm off in front of everyone to make it happen.

I want to talk to Miss Reeves during class, but she gives a lecture and then we're taking turns reading passages from our chosen novels to the class. When it's my turn to walk up front, my palms get so sweaty that I can hardly hold my tablet. My hands shake and my voice cracks a few times while I'm reading. Everyone is staring at me, including Miss Reeves. It's a new sensation for me. Almost like the first day in a new school, except everyone knows me, and everyone is smiling. I try to smile back at them, but it feels awkward and I'm hoping I don't look stupid.

When class ends, I catch Miss Reeves in the corner and ask her for some tape.

“Did you send in your essays, Ryan,” she tells me, handing me the roll of tape. “I haven't received an online acceptance notification yet.”

I'm not sure what to tell her. “I know,” I say. My words sound forced. I pull my envelope from my backpack. It has come apart, so I'm fixing it when she takes it from my hands.

“What is this?”

“It's a letter,” I answer. “I didn't have an envelope, so I had to make one with what I had.”

“Ryan, this is from your packet for Stanford.” She holds the envelope in front of me. “Didn't you send it?”

I shake my head. “I missed the deadline. It’s okay, though. There's not much left for me after this.”

Miss Reeves glares. “After what?”

“After high school.”

“Damn you, Ryan. Damn you.” Miss Reeves slams the corner of her desk with her hand. I've never seen her act this way, so I take a step back. “Stop acting like everyone else around here.” She points at me. “Graduation is just the beginning,” she tells me. “You have your whole life—your whole life ahead of you.”

I'm surprised by her reaction. I look around the room. Students for the next class have started filling in chairs behind me.

“I'm not like anyone,” I say. “And I'm not acting.” I glance again. People are watching, focused on us. I pull up my sleeve and show her my arm. “It's getting worse,” I whisper. “Don't tell anyone. I may not make it to graduation.”

Miss Reeves stares at me in horror. “That can't be.”

I nod my head to disagree. “It is. I'm sorry.”

“Ryan, don't be sorry. Don't be sorry.” Miss Reeves grabs me and pulls me close to her. I feel her heart beating against my chest. “I'm sorry, Ryan. I'm the one who's sorry.” After a moment, she releases me and straightens my shirt.

The bell rings and I nod to her. “Thank you for the tape,” I say. I wave to the class—almost everyone waves back—and head to Biology.

During the lunch break, I take the letter to the front office to mail to Jessica. The secretaries are kind and smile a lot. When I hand the envelope to the woman behind the counter, she examines it before dropping it into an outgoing mail basket. She asks me questions about how I'm feeling and how school is, but I sense there's nervousness by her stares. It's not like with the students; the women here didn't see what happened with Brooks. I wave a polite goodbye and head off to buy my tickets for Saturday.

When I reach the table by the gym, there's a long line, maybe seven or eight people in front of me. I stare at the poster taped against the gym door and quietly wish that Jessica will get my letter and find a way to meet me for the dance. One of the student officers at the table sees me looking at the poster. She smiles for a second, then whispers to the boy next to her. He looks up at me and reaches to pull down the poster.

“I'm sorry,” the girl tells me. “We weren't trying to offend anyone.”

I shake my head and laugh a little. “It's okay,” I say, waving for the boy to stop. “You don't have to take it down.” I've seen the picture so many times that it doesn't bother me. I smile to show my acceptance. “I kind of like it now.”

The kids in the line in front of me turn and stare.

I grin back at them. “That picture is proof that if a guy like me can get a girl, then there's hope for everyone, right?”

My comment makes people chuckle. One girl turns away, but I see her smile, too.

“So you're going Saturday?” asks a kid in the crowd. “You're really going?”

I nod and shrug my shoulders. “If she says yes.”

“That girl?” asks someone else.

“Yeah, I'm hoping.”

As the line proceeds, I answer questions no one bothered to ask before. Some want to know if being a zombie hurt, while others ask what's in the meat I'm given in the cafeteria. I'm not honest with them. I can't tell them about the Scream Room, or the constant burning sensation, or that the protein is what keeps me from going crazy like Brooks. I tell them the Virus is like the flu and not to worry if they get infected. I tell them the hospital is fun and everyone is friendly. Yeah, I lie. Because I'm afraid that some of them will have a reaction to the vaccine. If they knew the truth, they would be afraid too.

When it's my turn to pay, Noah, the Student Body President, holds the tickets barely out of my reach. “So what's her name?” he asks with a sly grin.

I'm not sure I trust him, so I'm deceiving in my answer. “You'll have to ask her on Saturday,” I say. I snatch the tickets, wink at the girl at the table, and head to my locker.

That afternoon at the hospital, I stop at the administration office to arrange my ride to prom. The attendant takes notes, marking the start and finish times from my tickets, and then reminds me that they're not authorized to transport anyone else.

“I know,” I tell him, tucking the tickets back into my bag. “She's meeting me there.”

~ O ~

Before I know it, Wednesday is here, and I'm sent to the nurse's station due to another bleeding episode. This time, it's coming from my arm. I tell Nurse Jennings that I'm going to the dance, which makes her smile and lightens the air. She's paying close attention to my arm, and mumbles a lot, meaning she doesn't like what she sees. I know she's trying to keep me positive, because she asks a lot of questions about my plans for the dance.

“No, I'm not sure if Jessica will be there,” I tell her. “I hope so.”

“Jessica? Is that the same girl from before?”

My face burns and I nod. “Her father is Dr. Snow.”

This makes Nurse Jennings stop and stare. I'm not sure what she's thinking, but I imagine she's remembering her vaccination. She said he told her about the formula, which means she's
acquainted with him somehow. I don't want to ask because I don't want to know. Jessica's father is my enemy and I hate him for what he did. We don't talk after that and all I hear is the scratching of clean antiseptic paper over the tools Nurse Jennings uses and the swiping of her fingers on her tablet.

She gives me a shot in the forearm and then speaks again while pressing gauze to the puncture wound. “What are you going to wear, Ryan?”

“I don't know,” I answer, shrugging. I wince as she applies the Second Skin to my arm. The treatment hurts more than usual today. “Probably something like this.”

“To prom?” She drops the bottle, releasing so much fluid of Dermis that the smell makes my nose tingle. “You get one shot at this, Ryan. One.” She ducks grabs a handful of towels and mops up the mess on the floor. “You're not wearing jeans to prom.”

She finishes her cleanup and stares at me. “I'll rent you a tux. You're going to dress up for this girl.”

~ O ~

On Friday, Nurse Jennings waves me into the office before English. She hands me a zippered black bag and makes me promise not to look inside until after school. I thank her with a hug before racing back to my locker to keep it safe.

Every class is buzzing about prom. So much, that most of the teachers give up trying to ask us to calm do
wn. Well, they all ask. We don't do it. Some kids are renting a limousine. There's a place in Layton that rents them pretty cheap, I'm told. A group is going paintballing, another to a cabin. Mason Barnes asks if I want to join his group for dinner at The Roof. I'm surprised by the invitation, but decline, choosing not to embarrass them or their dates by having a SWAT van drop me off for dinner. Plus, a guy like me at a fancy restaurant. I can only imagine the chaos after that entrance.

The whole day is about dance and preparation. When I hear that some of the girls spent hundreds of dollars renting the right dresses, I'm glad that Nurse Jennings talked me into a tux. I start wondering what Jessica would wear. Her family seems to have a lot of money, and if she manages to come, I think she would spend a lot on a dress, too. I also feel guilty that I don't have a better plan. I think about my letter and how stupid it was to ask her to meet me. There won't be a dinner or fun activity. I don't have that kind of freedom, and certainly that kind of money. After buying the tickets for prom, I only have a few bucks cash left.

I also search for Adam Turner in the halls. If Jessica got my note, he seems the perfect resource for her to respond back to me. But I don’t see him, which adds worry to the pit of my stomach. By the time I get to the last class of the day, I'm a nervous wreck. I've been picking at the edges of the Second Skin on my arm and fidgeting. Mr. Johnson has to tell me twice to stop tapping on the desk.

As I'm leaving class and headed to my locker, a familiar face scrambles through the crowd.

“I've been looking for you all day,” says Adam. He hands me a plain white envelope. “This is for you.”

I pat him on the shoulder, probably too hard because he winces from it. “Thanks,” I say. “I was hoping for this.”

He waves a goodbye and disappears into the crowd again.

The note. My answer. Now I'm certain that Jessica received my letter and I'm holding her answer in my hands. Everyone around me has known their date was a yes or a no for weeks now, but I'm given my answer in the very spot we first kissed. There are so many students around that I don't want to know right away. I tuck the envelope into my back pocket and grab the bag with my tux inside. Then I rush to my armed escort home.

Back at the hospital, I'm giddy while I'm given the usual scrubbing and work over in the Scream Room. I'm not paying attention to anything. All I see is the envelope and I'm imagining the words that are on the paper inside.

Back in my room, I tear open the envelope, though taking care not to damage whatever's inside. It is a letter from Jessica.