Return of the Jed (11 page)

Marisa had no idea what the other person needed, or how her dad was going to get it. But she remembered how surprised she was to hear what her dad said just before hanging up.

“Who knows what a zombie dog is doing in Mexico, but having a canine in that condition drop into our laps? This could be the break we’ve been waiting for.”

“Condition?” I asked. “Are you sure that’s what he said? ‘A canine in that condition’?”

“I think so,” Marisa said. “Is it really that big a deal?”

I needed to focus on Tread, specifically keeping him away from people far too interested in him. I did my best to push aside my anger over the whole “condition” label.

“Irritable bowel syndrome” was a condition. “Male pattern baldness” was a condition. But being a zombie was a virtue. I felt sorry for fleshies who couldn’t hold their breath for five minutes in the boys’ bathroom, an ability that had gotten me through many visits when someone suffering from irritable bowel syndrome recently visited it.

I pressed Marisa. “I’m not sure how your story explains what you were doing at the kennels.”

“Who wouldn’t want to see a zombie dog?” Marisa said. “If there were a zombie zoo, I’d be there every day. Feeding brains to the zombie lions. It made me wonder if zombie elephants would eat brains too, or if they’d be vegetarians. Maybe eating dead plants.”

“You think way too much about zombies,” I said.

“I guess, but since, you know, I’ve never met one before, I thought you might know everything zombie related.”

“I don’t know any zombie elephants or zombie lions or zombie zoos—”

“She’s right, though,” Luke interrupted. “A zombie zoo would be pretty cool. You could watch the tigers attack antelopes over and over and over. It might be in slow motion, but still, I like the concept.”

“Two things,” I said. “First, zombies don’t move in slow motion. I thought we were clear on that. Secondly, I’m the only zombie, as far as I know. Can we get back to what you’re doing here?”

“She told you,” Ryan whined. “We came to see the zombie dog. But I have to admit, he’s kind of a disappointment.”

Tread lifted his head as if he knew we were talking about him. This had been a long night for him, undead or not. He put his head back down, let out a soft groan, and closed his eyes.

My dog obviously didn’t care about being trash-talked, so I took offense enough for the both of us.

“Really? A disappointment?” I asked Ryan. “How so?”

“I was kind of expecting red eyes, long sharp fangs dripping in blood, wide-open gashes along his body so you could see his bones and muscles, and that he fetched brains,” Ryan answered. “You know? A zombie dog.”

“Tell you what. You chase a dog into traffic, make sure it’s run over and dies, then bring it back to life. Then you can tell me how disappointed you are that your brand new zombie dog doesn’t go around eating everyone.”

I scratched Tread’s head, leaned over, and whispered, “I’m happy you don’t eat people. And do walk well on a leash.”

“Wait.” Marisa kicked my foot. “That’s how you did it?”

“Did what?”

“Made a zombie dog?”

“First, I never planned to make a zombie dog. It just happened. Like I just happened.”

“Which leads me to a question I’ve been dying to ask,” Marisa said. “So to speak.”

Of course it was the question she was dying to ask. It was the question everybody was dying to ask when they met me and wondered why my limbs tended to be removable.

“You want to know how I’m a zombie.”

“Yes. If that’s OK. You probably get that question a lot.”

“I do, and I will tell you what I’ve told everyone else. I just am. Just like everybody just is. I mean, you’re Latina, right?”

“I am, and proudly so.”

“How did you get like that?”

Marisa looked at me as if I’d insulted her. “What do you mean, like this? You mean Latina? How do you think?”

“Now ask me how I got to be a zombie.”

Her face softened. “You just are.”

“Right.”

I told her the story my parents told me, how everyone thought I was born dead, but it turned out I was just undead. That at first I went through a bunch of tests until Mom and Dad said enough was enough, since I seemed normal except for a heart that just laid there.

I followed that with the semi-tragic tale of Tread, who seemed to have departed this Earth when run over by a car that left a permanent tire mark across the terrier’s chest. And how, as I cried over the carcass, bits of tears and Ooze mixed and mingled in the wound, after which I saw some odd glowing sparks, and Tread came back to life.

Or at least undeadness.

“And not the Stephen King
Pet Sematary
undeadness,” I added, referring to the horror novel where dead pets came back to life as crazed killers. “Tread is pretty well-trained. And he won’t rip out anyone’s throat unless I ask him.”

I glared at Ryan.

“Cool,” was all he said.

I looked back at Marisa. “I told you mine, now you tell me yours. Why are you guys here, and how did your dad know about Tread?”

“Like I said, we’re here to see the zombie … Tread. And I don’t know how my dad even knew about him, but I have my suspicions. I’m pretty sure it has to do with his job.”

“What does he do?”

“He used to work for the government, but he quit a few years ago when our … well, family stuff. Now he just has, um, hobbies. They keep him busy.”

“So your mom works?”

“She died a while ago. Ryan was just two years old. He doesn’t even remember her.”

“I do too, take that back!” Ryan screamed. “She held me and took me places. I have lots of memories.”

“Fine, you remember,” Marisa said. “Anyway, we weren’t the same after that. Dad especially. And then when my older brother ran away … but you don’t want to hear that anymore than I want to tell it.”

“I’m really sorry, sounds like you guys have had it tough,” I said, not knowing what to say.

Marisa sat down next to me.

“It hasn’t been easy, but we’ve managed to stick together. Barely.”

”I hate to get this conversation back on track, but how did you wind up at the kennels tonight?”

“Dad didn’t turn off his computer when he left. There was the photo and a bunch of notes. Ryan and I figured we’d go check it out, but I really thought we’d be locked out. Then what do we see?”

“An open window,” I said.

“How lucky was that?” Marisa asked. “Only now I know why it was open.”

I pushed against the wall and stood, happy I couldn’t feel any of the dozen splinters that may well have dug into my flesh.

Marisa stood with me. “We need to get out of here. Our dad is going to wake up in less than an hour.”

I looked at my watch, reminded again that I didn’t have a watch. I pulled my phone from my back pocket and pressed the home button. Four fifty-one a.m. It was late. Actually, very early. And Luke and I had to get back to the hotel before Dad noticed we were gone—if he hadn’t already.

Marisa took Ryan by the shoulders and pushed him toward the hatch. She lifted the plank to reveal the ladder and held out her hand, signaling Ryan to go first. I took advantage of one-on-one time with Marisa.

“Can you do us a huge favor?” I asked. “Can you take Tread for a few hours? My dad is going to have a million questions if he sees Tread this early. The first one is going to be, ‘How many officers are waiting for us outside’?”

“Sure, we can stow him in our garage for a while, my dad will never notice,” Marisa said. “He doesn’t notice a lot of stuff nowadays.”

I gave her my number.

“I’ll text you in a few hours,” she said. “There’s a taco stand we can meet at later. My dad won’t care if we go out for a while.”

“Thanks. Oh, and don’t worry. Tread can’t turn you into a zombie.”

“Oh yeah, totally. Not worried.” She paused as a nervous look crossed her face. “I mean if he could, I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t have him out in public starting the zombie apocalypse.”

“Right,” I said, too happy she was taking Tread to wonder why she was so comfortable around an undead dog. “Just one more thing. How do we get back to the hotel?”

“Which one?”

“
El
something
de
something.”

“Seriously? You better start picking up some Spanish besides ‘
Un taco por favor
.’ Do you remember the street?”

“Monterey, I’m pretty sure.”

“Then you’re in luck.” She pointed to my left. “Follow the creek bed to that streetlight. Turn right, and follow that road to Monterey. You should be able to see your hotel from there.”

“
Gracias
.”

“Nice try.
Hasta luego
.”

“And pasta potato to you.” Before she could glare at me, I added, “Just kidding, see you later.”

All of the sudden I thought of Anna, and how lucky I was. Then I pictured Luke and Marisa. How odd.

“I thought you had a key,” I said, patting my pockets and taking a mental inventory—phone, wallet, mints (zombie breath can be a killer), and lint.

“Check your backpack,” Luke said.

“Are you sure you don’t have it?”

“Dude, since when have you known me to be responsible?”

We stood outside the hotel room, the sun beginning to peek over the desert, slowly turning the grays and blacks to brown and beige. Whose idea was it to populate such a bleak landscape? And one so dang hot all the time? People were way tougher in the olden days because no way was this spot getting any Facebook likes now.

I shrugged off my backpack, knowing it lacked keys of any kind. If I had the key, I was not going to drop it in the stuff that made up my zombie survival kit. Stuff easily got lost amid the staples and duct tape. The only way to do it right was dump everything out.

Which is exactly what I did, the contents spilling onto the concrete with a clatter that would wake the dead.

Except I was already up.

“Has it ever occurred to you that you carry more personal-care items in your backpack than most women do in their purse?” Luke asked.

“Has it ever occurred to you that you say really sexist stuff sometimes?” I shot back.

I picked through everything and found exactly what I expected. Plus some gum (for chewing, not reattaching) and the emergency bottle of super glue for those times I had to absolutely, positively reattach something in seconds. I hated using it because it left a residue and made me itch.

Years ago I sent the makers a letter asking them if they planned on coming out with hypoallergenic glue. I never heard back.

Luke picked through the items. He picked up the glue and gum, holding them in front of me.

“Here’s what we do,” he said. “You chew the gum into the shape of the hotel key. Then you glue it until it’s as stiff as you. And when it doesn’t work, I scream at you for coming up with such a stupid idea.”

“But that’s your stupid idea,” I said.

“True, but I’m tired of being yelled at for stupid ideas. It’s time for you to share the responsibility for truly brainless plans.”

“That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“See what I mean about you shirking stupid-idea responsibility?” Luke said a little too loudly.

“Really? Guess you know now what it’s like to be brain-dead because nothing you said makes a bit of sense,” I said even louder.

Our nerves were frayed after a long, sleepless night. All I wanted to do was get inside and catch a few quality hours in a horizontal position. For a split second, I was happy the door suddenly opened, until I realized who had to do the opening.

“What the hell are you boys doing outside?” Dad said. He hitched up his pajama bottoms, which was all he was wearing in full view of the public, bringing shame to generations of Rivers.

“Nothing, it wasn’t us, you can’t prove anything!” Luke shouted.

“Dad, no, we were just …” I had no idea how to follow Luke’s instinctive self-defense mechanism, which was to scream his innocence before he was even accused.

“Jed, why is your stuff scattered everywhere?” Dad said. “And why are you looking at me like that?”