Zombies Don't Forgive (12 page)

I know it's lame, but what else was I going to say? “My sometimes boyfriend thinks you're a Sentinel, and if I catch you betraying my sometimes ex-boyfriend I'm going to personally remove your limbs with my newly whitened teeth”?

“It was so … nice … meeting you last night,” Val says.

I can't hide my distaste at the gruff sound of her voice and her passive-aggressive, stop-start style of speaking really fast then really slow.

“Stamp had told me so … much … about you. It was … great … to finally meet you in person. And Dan seems really sweet too.”

“Dane,” I kind of growl because you know and I know after nearly clocking him last night, the witch remembers his name.

Stamp hears my tone and gets all big-eyed again.

I shoo him down with a reassuring hand, but he's still leaning way too close to me over the table.

Ooh, and was that a dig? The way she paused there around the word
much
when she said she'd heard so much about me?

Why, yes. Yes, it was.

That. Bitch.

“Oh,” I weasel right back, really oozing it on as Stamp sits there, smiling cluelessly. “Stamp has just had
so
much to say about you. It's a shame you couldn't invite us in last night. That would have been a real treat.”

Finally Stamp frowns and mouths, “Hey!”

There is a slight pause before Val croaks, “Oh, well, you know how it is with new lovers. Stamp and I just wanted some … alone … time. But maybe next time. We can do it at your place, right? I heard I missed out on your fancy thousand-dollar spaghetti.”

Oh, it's on! Bitch knows it's called million-dollar spaghetti! Who the hell calls something thousand-dollar anything? Unless, you know, it actually costs a thousand dollars.

“Oh, well, it's waiting on you. Hey, listen, what are you doing tonight? I'm sure I can defrost it in time for dinner, if you're not too busy.”

“I'd love to,” Val croaks, sounding like a cross between Dane and some poor schmo who's had his jaw wired shut, “but Stamp and I are heading out to that new club downtown. Spartans? It's too bad you can't dance. I know Stamp would love to see you—”

“Who said I can't dance?” I say perfectly sweetly, so it's surprising that Stamp's eyes get huge. Again.

“Why, Stamp did, sweetie. He tells me everything.”

Sweetie?
Really?

“Oh, did he now?”

With more than mortal speed, Stamp whips his phone from my hand and babbles into it, “Well, Val, he-he-he, I've got to make sure Maddy gets home safe, and then I'll come pick you up so we can head to the club, okay? What's that? No, you hang up first. No, you! Oh geez, you're so funny. Okay, I'll—”

“Done,” I groan, snatching the phone and pressing the End button so I won't hurl my last three servings of brains all over his carbonated espresso. “That's seriously annoying.”

“Yeah, well, what's more annoying is that since I hung up first, she's going to call just so she can hang up first. See. There.”

The phone rings, and with speed and skill I both silence the ring and power the phone down. “Done and done.”

Stamp makes a big show of trying to get the phone back, but I can tell he's secretly relieved. At least a little.

“She'll be mad.” He sips his fizzy drink.

“What? Are you scared of a little girl?”

He shrugs, and I figure he'll deny, deny, deny.

But then, after a pause, as if maybe he's thought his answer over a little, he blurts, “She's tougher than you think.”

I shiver, recalling the way she tried to back Stamp down on the sidewalk last night. “I bet.” I drink my soda. “Sounds like you guys are getting all serious and stuff.”

“Kinda.”

“What's your strategy there?”

“Strategy?”

“Yeah, exit strategy. You know, before things get too serious.”

Stamp frowns, then sneers. “That's the difference between you and me. I'm not constantly thinking about getting out of a relationship while I'm still in it.”

He stands abruptly, and I linger until it's clear he's ready to leave and not just get another fizzy drink refill. I pocket the phone as I rise, thinking maybe he'll forget it. That would give Dane and me another chance to mine it for clues.

But the minute we're outside and standing on the curb, Stamp winks. “Hand it over.”

I smile. A wink was always our little code that things were okay after harsh words were spoken. “Fine.” I sigh dramatically, sliding the phone out of my hip pocket. “But before I do, answer an honest question.”

He rolls his eyes but stays put, another good sign. “What?”

“Do you love her?”

“Who?” He squinches his face. “Val? Love? Maddy, we just met.”

“Yeah, I know, but you're already doing the you-hang-up-first bit, and that's usually a sign of true love. Or dementia. Whatever.”

He snorts.

I hand him the phone even though he really hasn't answered the question.

“In this case,” Stamp says, almost looking around as if she might hear, “it's more like a sign of true scared.”

“Really?” I say. “Stamp, you don't have to go tonight. Let's get Dane, and we'll go pretend to eat somewhere, like old times. Val will understand.”

“Not really,” he says, not nervously but close enough. “Besides, you don't stand Val up. Ever.”

“Why? She stood us up without much worry.”

“Yeah, well, it doesn't work in reverse. Just trust me. But it's cool. We're cool.” He puffs up his chest before slipping on some sunglasses to shield the last of the afternoon sun.

“You sure?”

He sniffs and changes the subject. “Look, I'm serious about driving you home. It's on the way to the club. And look, it's still early. That place doesn't really get hopping until well after midnight.”

I picture Dane in the borrowed car still idling around the corner in the Burger Barn parking lot. “It's cool. I don't want to get you in trouble with Val.”

He winks again and turns, sunglasses blinking in the sun.

I watch him go, never suspecting it could be the last time I see him re-alive …

“Bitch is a zombie,” I grunt, flopping into the passenger seat a few minutes later. “Straight-up undead witch from hell, no doubt.”

Dane doesn't smile often, but when he does, look out. The last of the day's sun colors his gray skin orange and lights up his teeth. I'm so relieved to see him, so freaked out that Val's among the Living Dead, that I impulsively plant a kiss on his thin, pale lips.

I can feel him smile even as we kiss. I pull away just to see it some more.

“What finally convinced you?” He puts the car in reverse and exits the parking lot.

We idle in traffic until Stamp's Jeep appears in the left lane a few cars up.

“Stamp handed me the phone and made me talk to her.” I groan.

“Ugh.” He makes a face. “I hate when he does that.”

We share a wince like girlfriends.

Dane eases in to follow Stamp. “So,” he says a few streets later as traffic begins to thin. “Are you feeling better about this now? I mean, I'm not sure how her behavior last night didn't convince you, but—”

“Yeah, lots better.” I'm jazzed to get started and get this night over with. “Where'd you get the car?”

“You know Chuck from work? The wardrobe dude?”

“The fat white guy with the dreadlocks?”

He gives me a funny face. “No, that's Ralph. You know? Chuck? The one with all the Star Wars shirts?”

“Oh yeah, gotcha. So …”

I'm watching Stamp's Jeep, now a few lanes over.

Dane is really drawing this out. “Anyway,” he finally says, “Chuck was helping his girlfriend move tonight, so I told him he could borrow the sedan. She collects a lot of comic books, and his backseat wasn't big enough for them all. This way Stamp won't recognize the car,
and
it looks like I did a favor for Chuck instead of, you know, the other way around.”

“Nice thinking,” I murmur, watching Stamp turn left. Before I point it out, I hear the blinker switch on.

“So what did she say one-on-one?”

“Nothing but grossness on toast. Playing all nicey with Stamp right in earshot.”

“Sexy,” he cracks as he slows down. “Did she tell you why she couldn't invite us in last night?”

I make an ick face, but he's paying more attention to the road than to me. Story of my life. “She said she and Stamp were young lovers and needed their alone time.”

Stamp has turned in to Val's neighborhood, which looks even sketchier now that we know our way around and I can pay more attention to details. The other warehouses here are completely deserted, and for a moment my mind flashes to Val building her own Zerker army, chaining them up in all the other warehouses and just waiting for the right time to release them on us.

Dane pulls in to the parking lot next door but close enough that we'll see Stamp's Jeep when he leaves.

“I really hate this neighborhood,” Dane says, squinting against the dreadful orange light from the street lamp we've parked under.

“Yeah,” I say, manually locking my door. “I'm glad I'm already dead.”

Stamp's long legs launch him out of the driver's seat. He's wearing his skinny jeans again and that ridiculous black-and-white-striped hoodie, plus the shades still, even though it's close to midnight by now.

“You know,” Dane says as Stamp disappears into the warehouse, “I never thought I'd say this, but I think I preferred it when Stamp dressed like a jock.”

I snort. “He just seems so lost. Like he's trying so hard. He seems vulnerable, don't you think?”

Dane nods but then shakes his head. “Stamp's tougher than you think. He can handle himself.”

“Oh, really?” I nudge him. “So what's with all this, then?”

“Don't you want to know if she's a Sentinel or not?”

“Or Zerker.”

He nods and says absently, “Or Zerker.”

“So what's the plan? I mean, other than follow them to some stupid club?”

He chews his lower lip. “I'm still working on that. But we need to isolate her. It may take force. You up for that?”

“I am.” I grin, thinking of those thugs in the cemetery the other night. “But what if she's not what we're pretty much sure she is? What if Stamp's right and she is just some crackpot Normal who digs living dangerously and watching scary movies on TV all night?”

He looks at me, nods.

“We apologize? Here they come.” I subconsciously inch down in my seat.

Stamp is reaching for his door as the thin, blonde menace saunters to hers. Val stands patiently even as the car shifts from Stamp's weight in his seat.

“Ouch,” Dane says, clearly enjoying this.

“Yeah, he never was too good with the gentlemanly stuff.”

“Me either.” Dane's still watching Val, who's tapping her toe impatiently.

I know Dane's kind of fishing for a compliment, so I ignore him.
“What
is she wearing?”

She's got on white-and-black tights to match Stamp's jacket. Lame. Her foofy gray skirt looks really expensive. But then she's in a cheap, ripped tank top and … a red boa?

“Kids these days.” Dane shakes his head.

At last Stamp gets the message and springs from the car, shimmies over, and opens Val's door. Even from down the block, we can see her mouth flapping and his shoulders shrinking.

“Told you he was whipped.”

I roll my eyes. “More like scared.”

“Really?” The cheap leather of the borrowed car seat cracks as Dane turns to look at me.

I nod.

Dane grabs my head and shoves it nearly to the floorboard. Seriously, my head's scraping the gas pedal, but he's gazing out the window. What's wrong with this picture?

He turns his lights off and follows Stamp's Jeep, lucky to catch him as he roars from the industrial side of town and back onto the interstate, heading for downtown.

We follow them from afar, Dane paranoid that Stamp or Val might spot us and head for the hills.

Halfway to the city lights, I say, “Dane, this is ridiculous. So what if they spot us? It's America, right? Can't two zombies go to the same club as one known zombie and another suspected zombie?”

“I guess so, but I still like the element of surprise.
I think we shook Val up pretty bad showing up out of nowhere last night, and Stamp saw it. It wasn't quite enough, but I still prefer surprising her to the other way around.”

“Great. Fine. I get that, but enough with the cat and mouse, okay?”

“Okay, yes, you're right.” But still he drives all hunched and sketchy.

Finally Stamp pulls off the second downtown exit and we follow, merging with the nightlife as old and young alike fight for parking spaces in the lively downtown district that blends both upscale bistros and cafés with trendy nightclubs and hookah bars.

We spot the club Stamp was squawking about over coffee: Spartans, which I guess has a kind of gladiator theme or something judging from the giant gold doors that look like shields, with swords for door handles, of course. Stamp parks, and we circle the block.

We park behind a bustling Cuban restaurant, which looks a ton more fun than stupid Spartans, let me tell you. I pump a ton of quarters in the hungry meter before we cling to the last of the line waiting to get into the club.

It's pretty obvious the rest of the kids are all mouth-breathing, pulse-pounding Normals: healthy skin, flushed cheeks, beads of sweat on their foreheads, bodies so warm and amped up on energy drinks I can feel the heat coming off them at three or four paces.

Stamp seems to know them all as he hustles and jives
with all kinds of freaks of nature, from the kid with the glittery green Mohawk to the chick with the shiny gold chain strung from her nose ring to her nether regions. (Not that I'm a prude, but attention-grab much?)