J. Gonzalez - Back From The Dead

Scott poked his head out, his attention directed to Chelsea. “Ditch those losers and come to my house. 143 Hemingway Drive. We’ll be chilling out in the living room.”

“In your dreams,” Chelsea said, turning her back to him as she left with the guys.

“Bitch,” Scott muttered, and the rest of what he said to his friends was drowned out as they hurried around the house and up the incline that led to the front yard. Tim felt an urgency to get in the car and get as far away from this party as possible. He was absolutely certain now that Scott was giving his marching orders to his crew: come on, guys, that little bitch turned me down, she’s following Count Gaines like a bitch in heat, we need to put her in her place just like we did with Tim back in sixth grade . He could definitely sense it, and he had a feeling the others could too. George and Al sprinted ahead of them to the car and Matt called out, “Chelsea and I parked right out front, we’ll follow you guys!” George acknowledged them and then they were in Al’s car, pulling away from the curb, making a U turn and heading out of the neighborhood. And as they passed the house, Tim saw Scott and his crew in the front yard, watching as they drove by. A moment later they moved as one solid unit toward a row of parked vehicles. Tim glanced in the rearview mirror, saw the twin headlights of Matt’s little Mazda behind them and he leaned forward from his position in the backseat. “Scott and his buddies are following us.”

“Time to lose them,” Al said, accelerating quickly. Matt followed closely, and Tim held his breath as the chase commenced.

It had taken them all night, but they’d finally procured themselves some zombie food.

Scott panted heavily. The others stood around the zombie food in a rough semi-circle of the guesthouse living room, out of breath from the struggle. Even Gordon had gotten in on the act. Earlier in the evening, Scott was becoming strongly of the opinion that Gordon was about to pussy out. He’d been pleasantly surprised when Gordon joined in enthusiastically, landing a few blows to Zombie Food’s kidneys. Zombie Food had not wanted to come to the house even through all the wining and dining they’d bestowed throughout the evening. In a way it had been like a courtship dance. The chance meeting at Susan Zimmerman’s party, the attempt at small-talk, casting the initial reel. And then of course there’d been the subtle jabs of insult from both parties, made in good humor, of course, but a ritual that had to be undertaken to let down their prey’s guard. To make Zombie Food think that things were normal.

And it worked.

Zombie Food had always been somewhat adversarial with them, even before tonight. The chance meeting at Susan’s was like destiny. They’d appealed to Zombie Food’s basic instincts, said all the right things and, before they knew it, Zombie Food was hanging out with them.

Needless to say, Zombie Food was in the process of leaving the party with those that had delivered it to Susan’s house. In fact, it had almost gotten out of their collective grasp, but they’d chased it down, captured it, wined and dined it, and encouraged Zombie Food to stay. They’d brought Zombie Food back into Susan’s house and continued their courtship. They were determined to win Zombie Food over for the night.

And at some point during the evening, they’d convinced Zombie Food to come over to Scott’s house. They’d made the suggestion earlier in the evening, but Zombie Food had rebuffed them in that condescending tone they knew so well. Scott and his friends laughed at this. Don’t be silly , was their refrain. We have much in common. We will have fun. You’ll see. We can bury the past, forge ahead and leave our differences behind us. What do you say ?

And somehow, it worked. They’d convinced Zombie Food to come with them, since it now lacked adequate transportation. They would provide transportation to Zombie Food’s home at the end of the evening, they said aloud while they were standing outside in a rough semi-circle in front of Susan’s house. Zombie Food did not have a car. Scott had grinned. “No problem,” he’d said. “We’ll get you home! Come with us!”

And Zombie Food had gone with them.

Once at the house they’d hung out in the living room and plied Zombie Food with booze. It turned out that Zombie Food liked to drink. In fact, Zombie Food’s beverage of choice was Jack and Coke, which Scott had. He served up the concoction from his parent’s liquor cabinet and retrieved beers for the rest of the guys as they sprawled in the family room on sofas and comfy chairs and relaxed. Zombie Food began to get drunk and they encouraged it to let loose. Zombie Food was among friends now! Zombie Food could relax.

And Zombie Food did.

An hour later, when Zombie Food was good and plastered and mouthing off about Spring Valley High’s Principal, who they all agreed was a colossal douchebag, Scott signaled the guys into action and they attacked. They swarmed over Zombie Food, kicking and punching, sending Zombie Food to the floor amid a flurry of blows that quickly put an end to Phase One.

Scott glanced up at them, barely able to contain his enthusiasm. He grinned. “It’s feeding time!”

He grabbed Zombie Food’s arm, and Dave grabbed the other arm. Steve and Gordon helped, and as a unit they led a bloodied Zombie Food out of the house, through the darkened back yard and to the guest house.

Zombie Food was out of it. Conscious, bleeding about the face and head, Zombie Food made semi-conscious moaning sounds. Scott unlocked the door to the guest house and they got Zombie Food inside, shutting the door behind them.

Somebody turned on the light.

The two zombies stood shackled in their corner, looking towards them. The younger zombie’s eyes raised in surprise. “Eeeehhhaa!” he bleated. The older zombie regarded them with that dead look in its remaining eye. A low rumble seemed to issue from deep in its chest. It was hard to get a read on what the zombies were thinking. Their dead faces were slack, expressionless. Could zombies bear expressions like surprise? Hate? Fear? They’d seemed fearful last time. Now it was hard to tell.

“Got you some dinner, zombies!” David said, his voice a lilting sing-song.

Steve chuckled. “You’re gonna like this one, guys. This fucker deserves it.”

They let Zombie Food fall to the floor and stood over him, waiting for a reaction.

From the moment he saw John Elfman at Susan Zimmerman’s party, Scott knew he was going to be the next one. John had been a thorn in their side since eighth grade. While Scott, Dave, and Steve all played various sports in school and in general had been on pretty friendly terms with the other jocks, John Elfman was the exception. John was a jock all the way, playing varsity football, basketball, and baseball. He was also on the track team. Sports were John’s life. Academically he was a C average student and that was generous. Personally, Scott thought John had all the intelligence of a piece of driftwood.

The zombies stared at them, not even straining at their shackles to get at John.

Dave sounded panicked. “Guys, if this doesn’t work — ”

“It’s gonna work,” Scott said, his adrenalin surging. “He’s like us. Remember what I told you on the way over to Susan’s?”

Gordon nodded and the others definitely understood. On the way to Susan’s, Scott had theorized that the reason the first zombie did not eat the homeless guy (now known as zombie #2) was because it recognized him as a kindred soul. However, if they’d retained any semblence of their former selves they might react differently to a guy like John, who, Scott theorized, would spark not only fear, but might also provoke them to attack in defense or anger.