Eat, Brains, Love (20 page)

We didn't have a ton of downtime in the NCD, but whenever we did, Harlene would insist we all get together at her place for a family dinner. It was nice. Normal. And though he never said much at the table, I think even Jamison liked it. He sure ate enough.

 

Amanda sure ate enough too.

I must have dozed off under the covers, or maybe I was just so emotionally exhausted that my mind sort of got away from me. Half aware of what I was doing, I drifted across the astral plane. Into Jake. But if my mind had gotten comfortable seeking him out, this was not the Jake I expected or wanted to find.

He was pulling a thrashing, zombied-out Amanda away from a guy that looked an awful lot like one of our government agents. He paused for a moment, not even thinking as he tore off a chunk of meat from the agent's side. He shoveled that bloody handful into his mouth and went back to dragging Amanda away from the body.

I woke up still shaking from what I'd just seen. I'd gotten so used to thinking of Jake as a nice boy from Jersey that I'd forgotten that he and his girlfriend sometimes killed people.

Tom stood over me, just about to wake me up.

“There's been an incident in Michigan,” Tom said gravely. “Stephens and Blake were involved.”

“I know,” I said grimly. There wasn't anything more to say than that.

“One dead,” said Tom. “A team is mobilizing. They're going to need you to track him.”

I nodded, getting out of bed and crossing to my desk where I'd left the Incapable Asset Disengagement paperwork.

Incapable was right. I'd gotten all screwed up while stealing into Jake's mind, and now more people were dead. Because of Jake. Because of
me.
They'd killed others too along the way, and I'd rationalized those. What had I been thinking?

All this was definitely a memory I could live without.

I thought about Tom's lecture that morning, how my whole relationship with Jake Stephens had taken place inside my head. That I even thought of it as a relationship was a joke.

I'm sorry, Jake,
I thought,
but I don't even know you
.

I signed the paperwork.

JAKE

WE DROVE OUT OF ANN ARBOR IN WHAT I'D LIKE TO coolly describe as a hurry, but was really verging on panic. It took all my self-control not to floor it, knowing that speeding would only attract more attention. I heard the distant wailing of sirens when we first skidded out of the university, but we were ahead of them. I stuck to back roads, sleepy streets in the suburbs—avoiding highways, commercial areas, anywhere the cops might be floating around. I kept an ear peeled for the
chop-chop-chop
of a helicopter.

It never came. With all the mayhem back at the student union, it'd probably take the local cops some time to figure out who they were looking for. By then, hopefully, we'd be out of Michigan. And, as for the government guys, it seemed like there were only two of them.

Well, there was only
one
of them now.

I wasn't really paying attention to where we were going. All I wanted to do was put some distance between us and our latest crime scene. I tried to keep the sun in front of us, knowing we wanted to head west, putting my four months of Boy Scout training to good use.

Amanda was camped out in the backseat. She'd come out of zombie mode, the digested parts of the agent enough to heal the bullet wound in her shoulder. She was still scrubbing herself with baby wipes. She was shuddering.

“You all right?” I asked her, trying to keep my voice steady even though I didn't feel particularly all right myself.

“We need to switch cars,” she said.

 

We dumped the car in the parking lot of some big apartment complex, I think somewhere in Indiana. Amanda picked out a dark red Chevy whose owner had left a back door unlocked, hot-wiring our latest ride with shaky hands. While she was doing that, I ate a rat, then a second one when my stomach rumbled disappointedly. I hadn't gotten much of the secret-agent buffet back in Ann Arbor and, with all the stress of the last few hours, I was starting to feel it. When I was finished, there were just five little rodents left on death row. I hoped we could ration them.

Rat
-tion. That was clever. I turned to Amanda to share my latest bit of wit, but she had this distant look on her face.

“Seriously,” I asked again. “You all right?”

She shook her head. “I ate that guy. I shouldn't have eaten that guy.”

“He tried to shoot me,” I replied. “Thanks, by the way. Anyhow, I know we didn't vote, but I think anyone trying to kill us is fair game. Retroactively, I'd vote to eat him.”

I actually didn't feel so sure about any of this. But what else could I say?

“It's not that,” she said. “It's that I was, like, more aware this time, while it was happening. I had the hunger and all that, but a part of me was still thinking, still paying attention. I saw Kyle when he shouted my name. . . .”

She trailed off as I pulled out of the apartment complex, heading west again, not sure where to go or what to say.

“He was terrified of me, Jake,” she said at last. “He was terrified of his own sister.”

“Well, you did look kind of scary,” I offered, figuring humor might be the best medicine.

Amanda stared at me for a second, then cupped her face in her hands and started to cry. Big, racking sobs that shook her whole body. It was like, thanks to my stupid quip, the strong-willed Amanda I'd gotten to know had collapsed all at once.

Way to go, Jake.

 

By nightfall, we were on the back roads of Illinois. This was the country now: high speed limits, winding roads, more grain silos than there were houses. A few other cars passed us, their high beams flashing in greeting. We zipped by, like, a dozen different deer, all of them toeing their way toward the road, eyes reflecting our headlights, waiting to make a break for it.

Eventually, all the radio stations got swallowed up by static except for one gravel-voiced old man giving lethargic gardening advice probably from within the depths of his tomb.

“What's a ball weevil?” I asked Amanda, breaking the silence that'd hung between us since she stopped crying.

“Boll,” she clarified simply, and clicked off the radio. I'd never get to find out what common household item to mix with my discarded orange peels to keep pests from nibbling my baby cucumbers.

We drove on in silence once again, our headlights reaching across miles of what would've been paradise if you were a grazing cow or a tractor aficionado. Me, I found it kind of eerie out here in this wide-open empty space, especially now that the radio was off.

“Look,” I said, not able to handle any more quiet. “I'm sorry for what I said before. It was a stupid joke.”

Amanda waved me off. “Let's forget it, okay? You being a totally insensitive dick, me breaking down. It was just a really hard day.”

“Okay,” I mumbled, feeling like we shouldn't just be brushing the whole incident off, but not knowing what else to say.

Amanda was back to business. In the pale yellow dome light she pored over our road atlas, dragging her finger across a mostly empty patch of land on the Illinois/Iowa border.

“I think we're around here,” she said.

I pushed the road atlas away, catching her eye.

“Look, I know you want to just forget it and that's fine,” I rambled, picking up steam as I went along, “but you need to know that what your brother saw, that wasn't you. Not the real you anyway. He'll realize that once he calms down. And even if he doesn't—he totally will, but
even if he doesn't
—you need to know that there's at least one person in the world that will never find you terrifying or gross.”

Amanda looked down at the road atlas, silent.

“That one person is me,” I clarified.

“Yeah, duh,” she said, and leaned over to peck me quickly on the cheek.

I thought about turning to give her a kiss of my own. A real kiss. But she was crying again.

CASS

MY FINAL MISSION AS A NOT-SO-PROUD MEMBER OF the Necrotic Control Division began late that afternoon.

Tom and I stood in the hangar, not much use as usual, watching a bunch of Jumpsuits load equipment onto the chopper we'd be flying to Michigan. Jamison stood nearby, supervising them while absently cleaning his shotgun.

I told myself that I'd made the right decision, the only decision I could really make. Still, I didn't feel good about it.

“He's going to die because of me,” I whispered to Tom.

Of course, Tom knew exactly who I was talking about. “That'll be hard,” he said. “The good news is, you won't have to remember it.”

I guess that's some consolation, knowing that maybe the worst thing you've ever done will soon be wiped from your memory.

Tom squeezed my hand.

“Home soon, Psychic Friend,” he said.

“I won't remember you either.”

“No,” replied Tom. “But whenever you see a handsome and fashionably dressed man, you'll probably have an unexplainable feeling of great joy.”

I laughed, even though I felt like bawling. “Not so fashionably dressed now.”

Tom grumpily tugged at the collar of his stiff new NCD jumpsuit. Apparently, word had come down from on high that his tailored suits weren't combat appropriate. “No,” he said, “I guess not.”

Both of us fell silent as a crew of nervous-looking agents wheeled a dog crate toward the helicopter. Inside was Chazz Slade, looking and smelling more rotten than when I'd last seen him. He was bent over in the crate, on his hands and knees. His face was pressed right up to the grating on the door, teeth gnashing ineffectually at the metal.

“Someone's excited to go on a trip,” joked Alastaire, following a few steps behind his caged pet. The guys wheeling the crate forced some laughter. Alastaire hadn't donned an NCD jumpsuit like the rest of us, even though he was technically leading this mission. He wore a stupid paisley bow tie, a black suit, and his usual aura of sliminess.

“Aren't you going to miss this?” asked Tom.

I sat between Tom and Harlene in the chopper as we flew toward Michigan. Jamison sat across from us, leaving some space on the bench between him and Alastaire. Chazz flew in the cargo hold with the rest of the gear.

It was too loud to talk, so we passed the flight in silence. Harlene pored over a digital map of the area where I'd last pegged Jake and Amanda. Tom played BrickBreaker on his phone. Jamison puzzled over one of the new stun guns he'd been cajoled into carrying after blowing that other zombie's head off, probably looking for a way to make it lethal. I stared into space and tried to ignore the way Alastaire was studying me.

I found myself daydreaming about the deal I'd made with Harlene, about what I might do once I returned to my normal life. What grade would I be in? I'd missed all of sophomore year and most of junior year now too. Was I going to be one of the kids that was very obviously held back, like Felix from middle school that everyone was scared of because he had a full mustache?

I shouldn't be thinking about this stuff—not so close to Alastaire. I was pretty sure Harlene went over his head on my deal. I didn't want to give anything away, so I pushed the thoughts down, imagining them getting locked up in my mental vault made of psychic douche-bag Kryptonite.

I felt it then, like that tickle you get in the back of your throat when you're just starting to get sick, except in my brain. Alastaire's mind reaching out to mine.

Why the sad face, peanut? It's going to be a wonderful night.

Peanut?
I thought back, sending a wave of revulsion along with it.

I'm trying it out. Everyone else has nicknames for you.

His thoughts were like an oil slick on my brain. I couldn't suppress a shudder. But I figured this little psychic chat was off the record. Might as well express myself.

I pictured a watermelon exploding. A watermelon wearing a paisley bow tie.

Alastaire smiled.

Not very nice,
he thought, and broke contact.

 

Five black SUVs met us at the Michigan landing strip. Two of them were for our squad, and the other three were filled with NCD agents. After losing agents in Pennsylvania and Michigan, they weren't taking any chances. All told, there were more than a dozen of us.

“Remember,” Alastaire told the assembled group of hard-looking badasses, and me and Tom, “we intend to take these two alive.”

He looked over at me.

“Now, where can we find them?”

Amanda and Jake were leaving Michigan, heading west. They were still on the move, but Jake didn't know where they were going. They were driving through the country, sometimes in circles, lost. It was almost too perfect—wherever they ended up would be the middle of nowhere, no civilians to worry about.

They didn't stand a chance.

It was a long drive to catch up with them. Thankfully, Alastaire rode in a different car. Harlene, Jamison, and Tom were all silent, thinking about the mission, or maybe about their own futures in the NCD. I stayed out of their minds, not wanting to know.

Every few miles, I updated our direction. We were getting close.

 

It was after midnight when we caught up to them. All the headlights in our caravan of zombie killers were turned off as we wended our way down a back country road. They'd holed up in a farmhouse just a mile or so off.

We pulled over. The military types fanned out into the woods around the farmhouse, setting up a perimeter. They seemed confident, like this was just another night at the office. As per usual, Tom and I stayed out of the way.

Harlene and Jamison gathered around me. Jamison was giving orders into a walkie-talkie, telling the other agents to hold their positions.

“What's our target's status, Sweet Pea?” Harlene asked.

I slipped into Jake's mind. It was easier than ever because we were so close together. It was sort of nice, having him nearby. Ugh, I felt guilty even thinking that. I needed to toughen up.

I gasped and broke contact almost right away, embarrassed by what little I'd seen. I was grateful no one could see my face flush in the darkness.

“They, um, won't see you coming,” I said quietly.

“Good,” said Alastaire. He was standing a few yards away from the others, keeping his distance because a snarling Chazz was crouched at his feet. He'd hooked up The Pavlov at some point and I was glad it was too dark to see them sharing fluids.

Alastaire bent down and unhooked Chazz. He grabbed the zombie by the hair and looked him in his eyes, the dead milky whites standing out in the dark.

“Go fetch,” said Alastaire.