Zombified

Book 2: Zombie Apocalypse Series

by Adam Gallardo

Genres: YA Fantasy; YA Science Fiction

Synopsis

"Gallardo resets the zombie bar, and it's sky-high." --Nancy Holder What's that low-pitched groaning sound? My name is Courtney, and I don't sell Vitamin Z at the Bully Burger anymore. These days my friends and I spend our after-school hours kicking zombie butt. Half the school is mad at me, even though I'm the one keeping their gray matter off the menu. And my dad won't let me talk about going to Columbia next year, even though the Army's clearing shufflers out of NYC. These fast new super-zombies are pretty scary, and if it wasn't for the new guy's awesome moves we'd be toast. Between him, my maybe-boyfriend Phil, and my Z-head ex Brandon, stupid boys are going to lead the undead right to my doorstep. They can chase me all they want--whatever else happens, I am going to get the Z out of Zomburbia. Praise for Zomburbia "Scary, freaky, and original. Get this book!" --Nancy Holder "Innovative and fascinating . . . You'll want to check that your zombie apocalypse closet is well stocked." --Molly Harper White "Readers are guaranteed plenty of mayhem and romance, laughter and heartbreak." --James Patrick Kelly

Release date: January 1, 1949

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 353

Sample

From the top of some hill I didn’t know the name of, the whole of Salem seemed to spread out before me. I thought I might puke.

The day before my senior year started up and this had been my first time out of the freaking house all summer without my dad in my back pocket—except for some late-night vigilante shenanigans that Dad didn’t know about—and where does my buddy Phil decide to bring me? To look out at the town I hate and can’t wait to get away from. Needless to say, he is not Casanova. On the plus side, he’d probably have been able to tell me who Casanova was. I think. I decided not to push my luck and ask him.

I closed my eyes and drew a deep breath. Jesus, I was acting like a grade-A bitch, even if it was only in my head. I opened my eyes and tried to see the town in a more positive way. Obviously Phil liked this, and I wanted to get in sync with him.

The Willamette River glittered in the sun, cutting Salem off from West Salem. The one surviving bridge was covered in traffic—the other bridge had been blown up years ago in the first days after the dead came back. There was the downtown dominated by the capitol building and the Gold Man shining on top. The courthouse, a few churches, a big bank or two; all of it dotted with parks and clumps of trees.

I wanted to barf. The smell of old cigarettes didn’t help much. Whoever owned this car before Phil had been a heavy smoker and we’d been unable to get rid of the stench. If Phil noticed my deep dislike of this little excursion, he didn’t let on. But then Phil seemed not to catch too many social cues. It was simultaneously cute and infuriating.

“Why did you bring me out here?” I asked.

Phil turned slowly to look at me and blinked his eyes. A tic of his. He had brown hair that fell into his eyes, also brown. A sharp chin. Good lips and nose, too. I used to think he was plain-looking. When I caught myself thinking that, I blushed and mentally backed away from the thought the same way I might back away from a dog that might be dangerous. Again, he didn’t seem to notice.

“I thought you’d like it,” he said. He shrugged. “I like it.”

Someone who hadn’t been socialized by feral cats might ask what it was exactly that he liked about the town.

“How’s the movie theater?” I asked.

“Good,” he said. “I like running the projector. It’s old and needs to be constantly repaired just so it runs, but that’s fun.” He smiled and I wondered again at ever thinking he was plain.

“That reminds me,” he said. “Have you been by the Bully Burger lately?” The Bully Burger is the local fast-food joint where we worked together before he left to work at the theater. I didn’t work there anymore, either, but my departure was a little more complicated.

“Nope,” I said. “I haven’t been back since I quit. What’s up?”

“I was in there a few days ago,” he said. “I heard that someone had been in looking for you.”

“Oh, shit,” I said. “It wasn’t Brandon, was it?” I asked. Brandon was a boy I had been falling for at the end of last school year. Before everything went to hell, that is.

“I don’t think so. They would have said it was him, but they didn’t seem to know this guy’s name.”

“Did they say what he looked like?” I asked. “Who told you this, one of the Olsen twins?” The twins weren’t really named Olsen, but they were for real named Mary-Kate and Ashley. No, seriously.

“No,” said Phil. “It was Chacho, and I didn’t ask what the guy looked like.”

“Ah, how was Chacho?” I asked. He was the security guard at the Bully Burger, and the only cool adult I knew.

“He was okay, I guess,” said Phil with another shrug.

My mind raced for a while wondering who might have been looking for me. Listen, I had just turned seventeen, and you wouldn’t know it to look at me, but there was a good chance that a number of unsavory characters might want to find me.

“Can I ask you something?” Phil asked.

“Well, you can ask.”

“What’s up with you and Brandon?” he asked.

This threw me. I wasn’t expecting Phil to really be aware of what was going on between me and Brandon.

“How do you mean?”

“You two seemed to be an item last year,” he said. An item? Was Phil a character in a Sweet Valley High novel? I let it slide. “And then you weren’t, and now you act weird whenever his name comes up.”

I slid down in the front seat of the horrible old Ford Taurus Phil had bought over the summer, and the cracked leather upholstery creaked and made fart noises. I knew that I’d have to talk about all of this with Phil at some point. I was just lucky that he hadn’t asked me before now.

“Can we get out of the car?” I asked. “Get some fresh air?”

“Is this some sort of stall tactic?” he asked.

“Only sort of,” I said. “Mostly I want some fresh air.” The stale cigarette smell really was getting to me.

Rather than answer, Phil opened his door and climbed out. I did the same, but as I got out, I grabbed my bag and started rummaging through it.

“What are you looking for?” he asked as he squinted in at me through the windshield.

“My gun,” I said. Technically, it’s a revolver.

“Are you planning to shoot me?” he asked. It took me a second to realize he’d made a joke. They were pretty rare coming from him.

“Ha,” I deadpanned. “I just don’t want any uninvited guests.” I grabbed the pistol and stood, tucking it into my waistband.

He looked around us. We’d parked at the end of a dead-end street. There were a few houses on either side of the street, all of them surrounded by chain-link fencing, and a few trees.

“I don’t think there are gonna be any zombies around here,” he said.

“Yeah, well,” I said, “the last time I thought I’d have a zombie-free evening with a group of friends, I had to deal with a whole army of the damned things.” At Brandon’s end-of-the-school-year party a couple months ago, we’d been attacked by the zombie equivalent of the Golden Horde. That was one of the reasons I’d stopped seeing him. But just one reason.

Phil sat on the bumper of the car and I did the same. I waited for him to ask me again, but I realized he wasn’t going to. He seemed happy just to look out over that city I wanted to get out of so badly. I considered not talking, not bringing it up again, but I worried what the consequences of that might be. I couldn’t figure out how Phil was doing such a number on my head, but I thought it might have been sorcery.

I noticed that he was sort of gesturing in the air with his hands, another tic. Little movements like he was conducting a symphony or something. I thought about his hands and what they’d feel like on my skin, then put that thought away where it had come from.

“As preface to this whole story,” I said, and I kept my eyes forward, definitely not looking at him, “I just want to say that I don’t do it anymore.”

“Ominous,” Phil said. “Do what?”

“I used to sell drugs,” I said. “For, like, the last year that I worked at the Bully, I was selling Vitamin Z out of the drive-through window.”

I waited for a response, but Phil stayed silent. I weighed his particular silence and it didn’t feel judge-y. Believe me, as a girl raised in the American school system, I know judgmental. I decided I’d be able to go on.

“I never tried it myself,” I said, “until I did. Just once.” I glanced at Phil and he nodded slowly. “Brandon was with me. And Sherri.” Sherri had been my best friend since birth, and she’d worked at the Bully Burger with Phil and me. “While we were high, we got separated from Sherri. The next time I saw her, she was a zombie.

“The whole episode freaked my shit something fierce. I decided to stop selling, and I definitely decided I’d never do Z again.”

“But Brandon,” Phil said.

“But Brandon,” I agreed. “He kept on going with it. He had some at his end-of-year shindig last year and wanted me to smoke it with him. That was right before the zombies made their grand entrance.”

Phil nodded. He’d been there for that part. Not as a guest of the party. He’d just shown up in case there was trouble of the undead variety.

“And he’d smoked it once or twice before that night, too.”

“Why?” Phil asked.

“He said it made him forget himself,” I said. “Not just his troubles, but himself. He liked that, I guess.”

Phil cocked his head and looked at me.

“No,” he said. “Why did you sell Vitamin Z?”

“Oh, right.” Of course he was asking about me. I’d been trying to focus on Brandon because that made things easier. I felt a little ember of resentment start to glow in my chest. My fallback position whenever I’m put on the spot is to get angry and let my inner bitch off her leash, but I knew that wasn’t fair to Phil. He deserved some answers. I took a deep breath and did my best to grind out that fire.

“I needed it to fund my plan,” I said.

My plan to get the hell out of Salem, to move to New York City—if the Army ever reclaims it from the zombies—attend Columbia University, and find a cure for the zombie plague. Phil knows all about it.

I braced myself for him to be horrified. Or at least mildly grossed out. What I wasn’t prepared for was him taking it in stride.

“I’m not surprised you don’t want to see him anymore,” he said. “Especially after something as scary as Sherri dying, maybe because of you guys taking Vitamin Z.”

I took a deep breath.

“That’s it?” I asked him. “Nothing about me selling it?” Why the hell was I pushing it? He’d let me off the hook, I should stop picking the scab.

“You stopped selling it after that, right?” he asked. “After you figured out it was bad mojo?” I nodded that this was true. He shrugged. “You want me to judge you for doing something dumb? I don’t do that. I’ve done too many dumb things myself to start judging people.”

“Are you Christian?” I blurted out. It was such a good explanation as to why he wouldn’t want to judge me. It would also explain why, after months of going out on zombie patrol, he hadn’t made one attempt at kissing me. Or even copping a feel. I’d briefly considered that he might be gay, but my sexuality-detecting equipment wasn’t picking up any fabulous signals.

He looked confused. “No, I’m not. Would it matter if I was?”

“No,” I lied. As much as I like to be open-minded, churchy-Joes rub me the wrong way. It was something I needed to work on, okay? “I’m just trying to figure you out.”

“My aunt says that that way leads to madness.” He said it without a smile—smiles from him are rare—but he didn’t seem sad about it, either.

“Your aunt seems to have you pegged,” I said.

A grin played across his lips.

His lips.

Man, I needed to get a grip. I stood up and checked that the pistol was still firmly in place.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

“Where?” Phil asked.

I pointed past the end of the street. Where the pavement ended, a small foot trail led down into some trees.

“Maybe we can get a better look at this beautiful city of yours,” I said.

“Sure,” he said. “Let me get my bat out of the trunk.”

I thought about that for a moment. His bat is of the ordinary baseball variety—wood and about yea long—except that it had nails pounded through it and it was more than likely covered in the gore of a hundred undead. It occurred to me I’d never seen it in full light. I didn’t think I wanted this to be my first time.

“Why don’t you leave it?” I asked. “If we run into trouble, I have this.” I lifted up my shirt to show him the pistol, and exposed a good portion of my belly, too. Not that he seemed to notice.

“Okay,” he said, barely glancing at me. “You want to go down first, or me?”

“Let me,” I said. Maybe I’d at least find a zombie who found my body appealing.

I started picking my way down the path, which was steeper than it had appeared from up on the street. A few times my feet tried to get out from under me, but I never actually fell on my ass. So, points to me, I guess.

Once we got down about six feet or so, the ground flattened out a little and I became less worried about falling off the hill. Then I noticed that the trees were a lot thicker and closer than they’d appeared from up above, and I started worrying about new stuff, i.e., shufflers deciding I looked like a tasty snack.

Phil skidded the last foot or so and he grabbed me to stop himself from falling. His hand snaked around my waist and he left it there for a second after he got himself righted. My heart started to thud in my chest and all thoughts of the undead went right out of my head. I felt like the heroine in a Regency novel that featured monsters, as dumb as that sounds.

“Sorry,” Phil said.

“No problem.” I looked out at the city. Being a few yards closer to it didn’t make it any prettier. So much for my brilliant ideas.

“Let’s go down here,” Phil said as he started walking. “I think there are some big rocks we can sit on.” He paused and grinned at me. “The better to enjoy the incredible view.”

“More jokes,” I said. “You’re like a junior Dane Cook.”

“I hope I’m less douchey.”

I didn’t answer that and just followed him. We found the rocks pretty easily. Big, flat stones that jutted out of the dirt. They were probably part of the mountain we were crawling all over. It felt good to sit in the sun with a boy I was starting to like. I warned myself that this was only the second time I’d been through this, and the first time—with Brandon—hadn’t turned out well. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Phil; it was that I didn’t trust myself.

We sat there without talking for a while and then, as I’m prone to do, I started mentally turning over something Phil had said earlier.

“What dumb things?” I asked.

He stared out at the city and frowned a little.

“Too soon,” he said.

“When?” I prodded.

He turned toward me and said, “I’m not sure. But I’ll know when it’s the time. If it ever is.”

“And you expect me to be satisfied with that answer,” I said, teasing him.

“You don’t have a choice,” he said, serious like a heart attack.

“I was joking.”

“Okay,” he said. “Good.”

The sun was behind us, but it must have started to set because we were in shadow by then and the air was getting cooler. I rubbed my arms when goose bumps sprang up on them.

“Let’s head back to the car,” I said. “I’ve had enough of this scenic beauty for a while.”

“Okay,” said Phil. He stood and turned back the way we’d come, and then he froze. “Oh,” he said.

A zombie stood right on the path that led back to the car. Of course. She wasn’t all chewed up and bloody, but her gray skin and the black slime that oozed out of her mouth were good indicators of what we were dealing with. I took a second to admire her Smiths T-shirt. It was the Meat Is Murder one. How’s that for shitty irony? She looked like she was our age, maybe a little younger, and she used to be pretty. I guessed that maybe West Salem High was missing a cheerleader.

We just stood there for a minute. All three of us. She made no attempt to come at us, and we weren’t exactly ready to rush her. I started to look around because the last few times I’d had run-ins with some shufflers, they’d sort of been traveling in packs. But if there were others with her, they weren’t coming out to play.

“Courtney,” Phil shout-whispered at me.

“What?” I said.

“Don’t you have a gun in your pants?”

No, I’m just happy to see you, I thought and grinned despite the situation. I was so scared I felt a little giddy. But he was right, I did have a pistol. Making no sudden movements, I slid my right hand across my belly and under my shirt. I found the pistol and wrapped my hand around it—I was careful to keep my finger off the trigger so I didn’t shoot myself in the gut when I drew it out. Just as slowly, I moved my left hand up and grabbed my shirt. I took a deep breath, let it out, then simultaneously lifted the shirt and drew the pistol.

Which stuck in my waistband!

I was so confused, I almost did shoot myself. I looked down to see what was going on and I heard the zombie snarl. I felt the gun’s sight snag on something, but I wasn’t able to tell what.

“Courtney!” Phil shouted.

I looked up to see the dead girl charging me. I yanked the gun free and felt a searing pain on my stomach. Then she hit me like a freaking undead linebacker. We both went over and she landed on top of me. I let go of the gun to grab her arms and keep her off me.

The bitch was inches from my face, snapping her jaws and drooling black shit all over me. I was trying to keep the ooze from getting in my mouth, and my arms were already shaking with the effort to keep her up.

“Philip,” I screamed, “grab the gun or something!”

I didn’t hear him respond. Where the hell was he? I knew I couldn’t last much longer. A whimper escaped my throat and I cursed myself for that. There was no way I wanted to go out crying in front of a goddamn zombie.

Just then something flew across my body and knocked the dead girl off of me. Phil had tackled her and now he wrestled on the ground with her. He’d ended up on top, but I knew that he couldn’t let her go or try to get away without risking getting bitten. At least she wasn’t leaking zombie tranny fluid all over him.

Despite just wanting to curl up into a ball, I got up on my hands and knees and started searching for the gun. Rocks and other junk dug into my knees and the palms of my hands as I probed under bushes and scanned the area. I didn’t see the damn pistol anywhere.

“Courtney!”

Somehow, Phil was now lying flat on his back, the dead girl contorting every way she could to try and get her teeth into him. His eyes bulged, and his face and neck were a scary shade of red. I knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. Screw the gun.

I found the biggest rock I was able to palm. It felt good in my hand—jagged and heavy. I stood and walked over to where Phil tangled with the zombie, stopped, and raised the rock high in the air. Phil’s eyes turned toward me and something like relief washed over his face. If this were a movie, it’s at this point I’d say something ironic, but I couldn’t think of anything.

“Do it!” Phil screamed.

The dead chick turned to look at me and hissed through blackened teeth.

I brought the rock down with all my strength right on her nose. I felt more than heard the sickening crunch of her nose caving into her face, and more black ooze squirted from the wound. She screamed and let go of Phil to clutch at it. Then she fell over backward as Phil bucked her off him.

I immediately collapsed onto her chest and, with my free hand, pushed her arms out of the way. She looked up at me with one ruined eye and I almost hesitated because of what I saw there. Almost. Instead, I brought the rock down on her face and felt/heard another crack. Then I did it again, and again. I lost track, but soon the crack was replaced with a sucking, squelching sound.

I felt fingers close around my wrist as I raised the rock one more time. Phil stood over me, his blank expression taking me in, then looking toward the zombie’s busted gourd.

“Okay, Courtney,” he said. “It’s done. She’s done.”

“I should have let you bring the bat,” I said, and the last few words came out strangled because I started to cry. I was only marginally less embarrassed to cry in front of Phil than I had been about squirting a few in front of the shuffler.

Phil pulled me off of her and helped me walk back to the rocks. We sat there for a few minutes while I got my shit together and the last of the sunlight disappeared.

“We need to get out of here,” Phil said. “Just in case there are more.”

“My gun.”

“You can buy a new one,” he said. “C’mon.”

We made our slow way back to the car. My knees were killing me, and something had happened to my hip that I was just starting to feel. Also, I had a deep gouge in my stomach where the pistol’s sight had dug into me. After a lot of tripping and sliding, we made it up the steep embankment and over to the car.

I sank into the seat and tried to ignore all of the flares of pain. Phil flipped on the dome light and we examined each other for gouges and bites. We didn’t find any—not that finding any would help out a whole lot at that point. We’d be zombies before we made it to the hospital.

We sat back down and Phil started the car. Elvis Costello, Phil’s favorite, came pouring out of the speakers. I sat there thinking about how, earlier, I’d been fantasizing about Phil’s hands on me. Well, he’d just been pawing all over me, and I couldn’t think of anything less sexy.

“Thanks,” he said, “for saving me. I wasn’t going to last much longer.”

“You bet,” I said. “Do me a favor in return?”

“Anything,” he said.

“Never bring me to this damn place again.”

“Done,” he said.

He put the car in reverse and got us turned around. Then we drove off toward home and the start of the school year.

Phil picked me up the next day and drove me to school. Over the last couple weeks of summer, he’d undergone an intense screening process conducted by my newly security-conscious father. This included more than one dinner at my house, which featured more questioning than they did eating. Sample query: “Have you ever done Vitamin Z, Philip?” The response was a slow blink followed by a “No, sir.” Mr. Subtlety just grunted at that. But I guess Phil passed the screening process because there I was in his car on the way to school. It might have been that Dad was tired of hauling my ass everywhere and wanted to give someone else the pleasure of my company.

An entire flutter of butterflies had taken up residence in my stomach as I thought about facing all my old friends—people I hadn’t been allowed to have contact with over the summer. Dad didn’t even let me have any friends over for my birthday in June. It was either the saddest or angriest birthday in the world as Dad and I sat by ourselves in our favorite Mexican restaurant—not even the giant Happy Birthday Sombrero was able to make me feel better. I knew my exile had been because my dad had locked me away like a delinquent Rapunzel, but my friends might actually interpret it as me being arrogant and standoffish and generally a douche bag. It wasn’t like I was able to tell them the truth—you know, that Dad discovered I was selling drugs that were addicting and killing our classmates so he made me stick close to home. I’d rather have everyone think I was a stuck-up bitch, thanks.

Phil cleared his throat and asked, “Everything okay?”

“What do you mean?” I asked. Maybe “snapped” was a more accurate descriptor.

He took it in stride. “You’re usually more talkative than this,” he said. “So I thought maybe something was wrong. That’s all.”

“Just thinking about the first day and all,” I said. “Wondering who will still talk to me, who’ll want to shiv me in the girls’ room.”

“There may be some overlap between those two groups,” Phil said. I smiled despite my queasiness. I liked when Phil made jokes.

“Har,” I said. “My social status was up in the air at the end of last year, and then there was my enforced absence from the scene. You see why I’m a little worried.”

Phil nodded. He pulled the car to a stop and looked both ways before moving on. His driving habits were very different from what I was used to. My old friends, Sherri and Willie, both drove like there was no tomorrow, and why not hurry up and get there, for Christ’s sake? I guess for them there really was no tomorrow.

The butterflies started doing aerial maneuvers.

“Listen,” Phil said. “People will either be cool, or they won’t. There’s not really much you can do about it either way, so why sweat it? If they’re cool, then, you know, cool.” I restrained myself from making fun of him, since I recognized he was trying to make me feel better. “If they’re not, you’ve dealt with worse.”

He pulled the car into the school’s driveway and we waited for the guards to let us in.

“Is that how you deal with it?” I asked. “You just ignore it when people are shitty?”

He pinned me with his gaze; his brown eyes seemed lit up. “Shitty is what I expect from people. If I get anything else, I’m pleasantly surprised. Or suspicious.”

He pulled up a space and rolled down his window. We went though the ritual of getting through security—having guns pointed in our faces, displaying our IDs, being polite to men who might very easily shoot us.

We got out of the car once we parked. Phil stood close to me and I was really aware of his presence. “I’ll see you later,” he said.

“I wish we had lunch the same period this semester,” I said. I kept the whine to a minimum.

“Me, too,” he said. “But I’ll see you at the pep rally.”

All I was able to say was “Guh.”

Right before we turned to go our separate ways, Phil put his hand on my shoulder and stopped me.

“You’re worth ten of anyone else at this school,” he said. “They’ll only affect you if you let them.”

Then he turned and walked off and I wondered if I’d have time for a good cry in the girls’ room before homeroom.

I didn’t make it to the bathroom. On my way, I ran into Crystal Beals. She and I were friends back in grade school, but we had drifted apart when it became apparent she was destined for the upper reac. . .