Eat, Brains, Love (21 page)

JAKE

THAT NIGHT, OUR STERLING NAVIGATION SKILLS LED us down a dead-end dirt road that broke off at an abandoned farmhouse.

“We're lost,” I announced.

“No kidding.”

I started to put the car in reverse, but Amanda stopped me.

“I don't see how more aimless driving through the dark country is a good idea,” she said, and nodded toward the farmhouse. “This is as good a place as any to hide out for the night.”

I looked at the ramshackle farmhouse, taking in the sagging roof and partially collapsed wood porch from the safety of our car. It's totally played out to describe broken, empty windows as looking like eyes but, man, if those farmhouse windows didn't look like some serious-ass evil eyes, just daring us to enter.

“This is some
Scooby-Doo
shit right here.”

“Too bad we cut that hair. You'd have made a perfect Shaggy,” Amanda said, opening her door. “Come on, I don't want to sleep in the car again.”

“You sure about that?”

“Don't be a wuss, Jake,” teased Amanda. “I'm sure the ghosts don't mean us any harm.”

The front door of the farmhouse hardly qualified for door status; it was just a cracked piece of old wood dangling listlessly from a single surviving hinge. We pushed it open and, of course, it let out a loud and sustained creak. I shuddered, but I don't think Amanda noticed in the dark. I hoped not; I didn't want her to think I was chicken.

In the farmhouse's living room was nothing but dust, the broken-down remains of some old furniture, and a stone hearth stained black with ash.

More notable were the dozens of crushed, red plastic cups and the lingering smell of beer hanging in the air.

Amanda picked up an abandoned keg tap and held it up for me to inspect.

“Party ghosts?” she asked.

I felt more at ease now that it seemed the farmhouse was a destination for country-style wild ragers. Clearly, we weren't the first kids to drive out here for a place to hide.

We cleared some space in the center of the room. Dust kicked up, swirling through the moonlight that poured through the windows. Amanda poked around the broken furniture and the remains of the kegger while I spread our blanket out in the cleared space. It looked like we were about to have the gloomiest picnic ever.

We lay down, side by side. I closed my eyes but, as tired as I was, they didn't want to stay shut. They just kept fluttering back open. I was wired. Too much had gone down today. I needed some rest, but it was impossible to relax.

“Hey,” I said. “Can you, like . . .” I felt stupid even saying it. It made me sound like a total pussy. But I needed to be close to her right now. Seriously, masculinity aside, I totally wanted a hug.

Before I could finish my sentence, Amanda had already curled up against me, her head on my chest. I stretched my arm out and pulled her closer.

“I need you, Jake,” she said quietly. “I'm not going to be able to make it through this without you. I'm so happy you're with me.”

“Yeah,” I said awkwardly. “Ditto.”

“Sometimes when we're driving, I think, like, about how horrible all this is. About how fucked up everything's gotten. And then I realize that if none of this had happened, I probably still wouldn't know you.”

“You knew me,” I said. “I was in your English class.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I do.”

“Are you going to puke on me again?”

That was all the invitation I needed. This time when we kissed it was different than in the gas-station bathroom. Better. For starters, our mouths weren't smeared with some trucker's viscera. The kiss was less intense, well, less like we were trying to devour each other anyway. It was more intense because it felt like we both really meant it.

It was like that for a while: breathless, kissing noises, you know the drill. Then Amanda rolled on top of me, straddling my body.

“Oh my,” I said before I could stop myself.

“Seriously?” laughed Amanda. “Oh my?”

“Whatever,” I said. “I'm overcome with feelings.”

Her hands on my chest, Amanda sat up straight, pulling back her hair, and I watched her with an expression that was probably like wonderment, this being the endgame of so many fourth-period fantasies.

“What?” she asked, suddenly self-conscious.

“Nothing,” I said, and then kept talking because I'm a well-documented moron. “Just sort of amazed this is happening, that's all. Is it, like, an end-of-the-world sort of thing? Like we might die tomorrow, so what the hell?”

Amanda stopped. “We're not going to die,” she said firmly. “We're going to be okay. Do you always talk this much?”

“Okay, okay, I'm shutting up.”

When Amanda leaned down and put her mouth on mine again, it seriously stopped mattering whether this was a one-time thing or some act of desperation or pity on her part, because why spoil the idea of making out with Amanda Blake by thinking too much about it. I should be devoting any excess mental energy left in my blown mind to committing every moment of this to memory.

My hands slid up Amanda's sides toward her boobs and, as they did, I swear there was a crescendo of trumpets and harps playing somewhere, the kind of triumphant orchestra that I bet mountain climbers hear in their heads when they reach the summit of Everest.

And, just as my hands reached that most sacred of destinations, the front door of the farmhouse banged open, startling both of us, our foreheads painfully knocking together.

I could see the doorway from beneath Amanda. Standing there was a hulking silhouette, shoulders heaving as it breathed raggedly.

“Angry ghost farmer!” I shouted.

The room suddenly smelled like a deli during a power outage. The silhouette staggered forward a step into a pool of moonlight. It took me a second to recognize him; he was practically falling apart, decomposed, his trademark glamour muscles gone sinewy under saggy dead flesh. A long, metal chain was dangling from a collar around his neck, like a leash. But wherever his owner was, it wasn't here.

“Chazz?!” I exclaimed.

“Oh my god, you psycho stalker!” Amanda shouted, not exactly a reasoned reaction, but I think we were probably both remembering Chazz's promise to beat up anyone new Amanda tried to date. I certainly was. I didn't have time to get over the initial shock of Chazz's untimely arrival, to wonder just how the hell he'd gotten here, because he was charging forward.

Chazz was on us before Amanda could fully get to her feet, dropping his shoulder and driving it into her like a football tackle. She flew toward the fireplace, cracking her head hard against the cobblestone hearth.

I was still on my back, Chazz staring down at me. His eyes were wide and feral—I didn't see even a glimmer of human Chazz in there.

“Hey, dude,” I said. “Could you possibly come back in an hour or two?”

“Graaahhhh,” replied Chazz, and reached down to wrap his hands around my throat.

Chazz lifted me up like that, my feet kicking in the air. He slammed me against the wall, his teeth snapping just inches from my face, even though he didn't seem to want to bite me. That was zombie instinct; I wasn't a meal, just something to be torn apart. I cried out as his fingers punched into my neck, digging toward my throat. It hurt at first, but then the zombie numbness took over and it just felt cold.

For a second, I felt like I was back at Ronald Reagan High and I'd finally gotten into a scrape with Chazz that I couldn't joke my way out of. Except this wasn't Ronald Reagan High and I wasn't just some nerd to be picked on. I was a fucking zombie now.

I shoved my hand into Chazz's snapping mouth, feeling his teeth dig into my knuckles. I clenched my fist and yanked back, a rotten-tooth smell filling the air as I ripped Chazz's jaw off his decaying face.

Chazz let me loose, staggering backward and slapping confusedly at his face. Rage was filling me, that zombie-killing instinct, but I had to control it. Channel it like one of those anime characters would, a big ball of cannibalistic chi stored up in my core, ready to hadouken the shit out of my enemy.

I tackled Chazz. He was weaker than me now, decaying fast. I pinned him down and grabbed the sides of Chazz's face, slamming the back of his head into the floor. There was a loud metal clang as something on the back of his head struck the hard wood.

“Jake! Stop!”

Amanda knocked me off Chazz before I could finish smashing out his brains. She had a jagged cut on her forehead, the blood oozing out of it a viscous black.

“You're going to kill him!” she shouted at me.

“Why are you sticking up for him?” I croaked back, breath whistling out of the finger holes in the side of my neck.

“I don't know!” she kept shouting. “He's—he's one of us, I guess. Do we have to talk about this now?”

She had a point. Chazz was already staggering back to his feet, his head rolling at inappropriate angles on his shoulders. Thick tendrils of greasy slobber curled down his neck, no longer contained by his jaw.

“Chazz,” Amanda tried to address him rationally, like that was going to work. “Did you follow me out here?”

“Oh, how romantic,” I groaned, squaring up in case talking failed and we had to rumble again. I was rumbling!

Wait, literally. My stomach rumbled violently.

Chazz had hurt me and now I needed to feed. I couldn't keep the hunger back for much longer. And—wait, whoa—I could smell them. Their scent was in the air, causing another growl to rattle my abdomen.

Human meat.

“Shit,” I said to Amanda. “He's not alone.”

CASS

WE HID IN THE DARKNESS, ALL OF US TENSE FROM THE sounds of fighting inside the farmhouse. It was the back line as usual for Tom and me, watching from behind an SUV that'd been quietly parked behind Amanda and Jake's stolen car, cutting off their escape. They'd left one of the NCD soldiers with us, a young guy that looked disappointed to have drawn babysitting duty.

I was nervous, my hands and feet tingling. I couldn't take my eyes off the farmhouse.

“It'll all be over soon,” whispered Tom, his hand laid protectively on my shoulder.

“Shh,” snapped the agent.

The farmhouse had gone quiet. A gentle breeze blew across the overgrown wheat field that stretched out behind the house. Tom's hand tightened on my shoulder.

This was it. The moment right before something big happens.

The zombie dove out of one of the farmhouse windows, rolled across the grass, and staggered to his feet.

My heart was in my throat as the air sizzled with electricity. Three cobalt-blue electric blasts fired from NCD stun guns sliced through the air and right into his chest, on target. A spasm shook his entire body and he collapsed back to the ground just as the metallic
thwap
came from someone's net-chucker. He was pinned to the ground beneath a blanket of heavy-duty mesh. Captured.

“Hold your fire!” I heard Alastaire screech from somewhere nearby.

I breathed a sigh of relief as I realized that it wasn't Jake that'd come flying out the window.

It was Chazz.

“A diversion,” murmured Tom.

I nodded. I didn't have to be in Jake's mind to see their desperate plan. Toss Chazz out the window, let the bunch of trigger-happy NCD hunters blast the ever-loving crap out of Alastaire's pet zombie and then . . .

“They're going for the back door,” I said.

We had the whole place surrounded. There were at least six highly trained NCD agents hidden from view in the wheat field behind the house. The rest of our forces were concentrated in front, on account of Alastaire being convinced Chazz would just drag Jake and Amanda through the front door. A part of me—no, all of me—was thrilled that his disgusting science project had totally failed.

“There go our heroes,” said Tom, pointing.

Not all of our force had been fooled by Chazz's swan dive out the window. I watched Jamison and Harlene hustle around the corner, headed for the back of the house. Jamison was on point, his stun gun leveled in front of him.

“Help me with him, damn you!” Alastaire shouted at one of his underlings.

If this wasn't such a life-and-death situation, I would've laughed at Alastaire and one of the other agents sprinting across the lawn toward Chazz and struggling to free him from the net. The rest of the crew at the front of the house just watched, not sure what to do. Alastaire was supposed to be giving the orders, but he was too worried about the big, rotting professional failure pinned down by one of his own men's nets.

“Disaster,” observed Tom. “Of the unmitigated variety.”

They managed to free Chazz and he came up thrashing. He would've taken a bite right out of Alastaire's frightened helper's face if not for the fact that his jaw was missing.

“Down, Chazz!” shouted Alastaire, and for a moment Chazz swayed back and forth, like he might attack or just drop fully dead. But then, with a guttural moan, he dropped onto one knee and waited for his next order.

Something wasn't right. The men at the front of the house shifted anxiously, guns still leveled at the front door, even if most of the agents were paying more attention to Alastaire's humiliating scene than the farmhouse. The night was quiet, still.

“Where's all the shooting?” I asked Tom.

If Jake and Amanda had gone out the back door, the guys in the back should've had them by now. Harlene and Jamison should've gotten there and—

As if on cue, from behind the farmhouse, Harlene screamed.

I slipped into Jake's mind for what I swore to myself would be the last time. It wasn't just my abnormal infatuation this time—it was imperative to the mission, serious NCD field business. I needed to know what was going on behind the farmhouse. At least this time I wouldn't catch him and Amanda about to do it—God, horny teenage zombies, don't you have anything better to do?

No—I was pretty sure this time, whatever I'd find would be way worse than a make-out session.

His mind wasn't so easy to get into this time; it was lukewarm, part Jake and part hungry eating machine. He'd started to turn full zombie. I forced myself into the part of Jake that was still capable of rational thought.

Holy shit, it's that big, black dude from New Jersey trying to pin me down. What the hell is he doing here? What the hell, in general?

Eat him. I should eat him. Eat him, eat him, eat him.

No—stay in control, Stephens.

God, my chest. What the hell did they shoot me with? It's all singed and tingly.

Amanda! Where is Amanda?

Eat him, eat him. Just one bite. One bite will be okay.

BITE HIM.

Aghh! No meat. Metal. What the fuck is he wearing? Some kind of gauntlet? No good. Harder to eat.

Wait. What was that cry? Sounds like food. And the big guy is heading toward it. Now's my chance.

EAT.

No. Focus. Sit up.

Amanda. There's Amanda, on top of that lady. What is she doing? Biting?

Eating. Mmm, eating. She's so lucky.

Whoa. That big guy just kicked Amanda right in the face. Not cool, dude. Knocked her off the lady, ruined her dinner. I'm going to defend her honor! By devouring his stupid face.

Wait. Shit! Who are these guys? Are they shooting nets? Who shoots nets?

“Jake!” I heard Amanda scream. “Run!”

I broke contact and ran, tripping over my feet, disoriented from moving so quickly after severing my connection with Jake. Tom tried to grab me, but I shook his hand off. I sprinted for the back of the farmhouse. NCD agents with their guns leveled were running right in front of me.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no,” I kept repeating, feeling like the words were coming out of someone else.

Tom was right behind me, shouting my name. I ignored him.

Why were Harlene and Jamison alone back there? Where were the agents assigned to guard the back? This couldn't be happening.

I rounded the corner of the farmhouse just in time to see Jamison go barreling into the wheat field. Chasing Jake, probably. That didn't matter now.

The NCD agents who had gotten here first stood around Amanda Blake, their guns aimed at her as she struggled under the net. She had the imprint of Jamison's boot on the side of her face but otherwise looked pretty as ever, damn her.

There was color coming back to her face slowly. She'd just eaten.

I slid into the dirt next to Harlene's body, scraping my knees. The ground around her was wet with blood.

There was a huge chunk missing from the side of Harlene's neck. Blood bubbled up as she tried to breathe. Her face was ghostly pale in the moonlight, her eyes staring up at nothing.

“Oh no,” I said again. “Oh no.”

Tom crashed to the ground next to me, shoving me out of the way. He tore the sleeve of his jumpsuit off and pressed it to Harlene's neck, cradling her head.

“Harlene,” he was saying, “you stay with me. You hold on.”

I stood up woozily, not really sure what I was doing until I was doing it. I shoved through the NCD agents and punched that stupid zombie bitch in the face.

It probably hurt me more than it hurt Amanda, the netting slicing through my knuckles. I didn't even feel any better. Amanda just stared at me, looking confused. Before I could even contemplate another swing, one of the NCD guys grabbed me by the shirt and flung me backward, away from Amanda.

“You're awful!” I screamed at her, not caring about the tears rolling down my cheeks, or all the NCD guys staring. “This is why your dad's a convict and your brother's terrified of you! Because you're—so—fucking awful!”

Amanda just kept staring at me, dumbfounded, a fresh welt forming underneath her eye.

“Cass!” Tom shouted at me. “You have to help me over here!”

I turned around. The cloth Tom had pressed to Harlene's neck was already dark with blood. She was looking at me, though, her mouth half-open like she was trying to say something.

She was still alive.

Tom took my hand and pressed it to the warm, damp cloth on Harlene's neck.

“Pressure,” he said sternly. “Keep the pressure on.”

I did as I was told. Tom got on his walkie-talkie, radioing in for a chopper, for a medical team.

Weakly, Harlene took my hand that wasn't pressed to her wound. She squeezed.

“It's going to be okay . . .” she told me.

I sniffed back tears and nodded.

I could tell she was lying.