Zombie Attack! Rise of the Horde (21 page)

“That's awful,” I said.

“It really was,” she agreed. “Jackson was the only person
who treated me well. We'd sit up all night talking, just like this sometimes.
He even threatened to hurt a guy who made sexual advances toward me. He was
like my guardian angel.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “His drug of choice is heroin.” She
nodded her head in agreement.

“He was doing one of those huge concert tours across
America,” she said. “This was before he was famous. Seven big name bands
touring together. A different city every night. He was filling in for another
guy who had overdosed and almost died. You'd think the band would have learned
its lesson. Instead, the bassist introduced Jax to the needle just so he'd have
another buddy to party with on the road. By the time he got home he was totally
strung out.”

“So he checked into rehab?”

“Eventually,” she said. “He was court ordered into it after
an incident down on Skid Row where he almost died trying to shake down a dealer
for more dope. The guy stabbed him and left him in the gutter. Missed his
kidney by about a half an inch or he would have been a goner.”

“Wow,” I said. “I never knew.”

“It's not a story he usually tells. He claims he lay there
almost bleeding to death for a long time. He doesn't remember much except
waking up in an ambulance, handcuffed to a gurney. He swears he saw my face
floating above him, but I think he just says that to make me laugh. He's a
performer at heart. He's always on, you know?”

“You got clean. So why couldn't he?”

“I had a great support system,” she said. “People talk all
this trash about my mom pushing me into Hollywood, but she's been really great.
They forget that she was a single mom with no help from my dad, trying to give
me and my sister a good life. I begged her to try out for commercials when I
was a kid. She didn't push me in any way. If it were up to her, I would have
stayed in school like a normal kid.”

“The tabloids really make it seem the other way,” I agreed.

“After I got out of rehab, no one would hire me,” she said.
“They said I was an insurance risk, like I was going to eat a bottle of Tylenol
in my trailer and overdose. There were some dark times when it looked like my
career was over. I mean, one day I was starring in a movie with Johnny Depp and
the next, I was washed up.”

“I thought you said no one knew you went to rehab?”

“The media might not have known,” she said with a twisted
grin, “but the studios have better people working for them. These aren't TMZ
rejects. We're talking former police detectives and private investigators. They
knew even before I checked in. When you're spending hundreds of millions of
dollars on a movie, you don't want any risks.”

“Is that how you ended up on reality television?”

“Pretty much,” she admitted. “My agent had several offers
from unscripted shows and low budget horror movies.
Star Dancing
was the
only one on prime time on a major network. It was supposed to be my comeback
vehicle, but we all know how that turned out.”

I nodded. It was just when the zombie outbreak was taking
off in California. Most people still thought it was only something that
affected homeless people and the perpetually poor.
Star Dancing
was
being filmed in Hollywood. Seven couples were matched up. Sports heroes from
basketball and football were paired with famous writers and celebrity chefs and
political pundits and movie starlets. An all-star panel of celebrity judges
weighed in every week. These included a famous choreographer who had worked
with Janet Jackson, as well as the stereotypical nasty celebrity with the
English accent who never liked anyone.

Ewan Crowley had earned his success working with the Royal
Ballet. He was both feared and loved by American audiences for his vicious
attacks on the shows performers, as well as his cunning word play. It was
almost impossible to earn a compliment from him. As the season wore on, his
behavior grew increasingly erratic, driving ratings through the roof in the
process. One week he brought a linebacker to tears with his razor sharp tirade.
The next week, he scolded a national news anchor for her choice in wardrobe.
Rumor was the studio executives were constantly receiving complaints about him
and threats of lawsuits. He was single-handedly responsible for their ratings
spike and he knew it. So when in the final month of the contest he walked on
stage during the middle of Felicity Jane's tango performance with her partner,
famous opera singer Mario Antonio Puccetti, everyone thought he was just
pulling another of his stunts. That was until he severely bit Mario in the neck
on live television. The video went viral overnight. Millions of people saw it,
people who would never watch a show like that in the first place. A month later
Z-Day was announced and shortly thereafter the internet went down.

“So you stayed in touch with Jackson after you got out?” I
said, trying to change the subject. Her eyes had glossed over with the dark
memory of her televised catastrophe.

“I did,” she said. “Like I told you, he was a big brother to
me. He was living in Studio City, working on his own album. That's all he did
those days—just record tracks and go to meetings. I was nearby just over
the hill so we'd go to meetings together. He got signed from those early recordings
and went on to make his album.”

One of the most celebrated albums of all time,
I
remembered. In under a year, Ever Rest's first album was bigger than
Appetite
for Destruction
. Growing up, there wasn't a kid on my block that didn't
know the lyrics to every song. We even memorized the music video and tried to
recreate it at home while listening to him.

“The song
Calamity Jane
is actually about me,” she
said with some embarrassment.

“Wow,” I replied. I was kinda at a loss for words. It was
hard to imagine being part of something so massive. “So how did he end up back
on drugs then? I mean, it sounds like he was doing so well without them.”

“He's an addict,” she sighed. “Like I said, it's a big part
of the rock and roll lifestyle. There are only so many times you can turn down
drugs before that little voice in the back of your head tells you that you can
get away with partying just a little bit. That's all it takes; just once and
you are hooked again.”

“That's crazy,” I said. I couldn't relate like she could. I
didn't really understand what drove people to put poison in their bodies that
would kill them. Maybe it was because I had this great family life with my dad
and Moto. Maybe Jackson didn't have that kind of constant reassurance. It just
seemed nuts to throw away all the good fortune and talent he was given on
getting wasted.

“I think he did it because he was lonely,” she said
wistfully. “Out on the road all the time, no support system, no one to really
love you. It takes its toll for sure. When he got back, he called me and
confessed everything. He said he had a stash up here and that he was trying to
wean himself off.”

“Why didn't he just go back to rehab?” I asked. “It worked
once. Wouldn't it work again?”

“He thought he could do it on his own,” she said. “He was
embarrassed. He had a real hard time admitting it to me. A lot of guilt and
shame goes along with being an addict. It's hard to understand if you've never
had this kind of problem. People just think, well why doesn't he stop using?
It's not that simple. His body is so used to the chemicals he’s been putting
into his system that if he were to just go cold turkey, there’s a good chance
he would die.”

“I didn't know that,” I said. “I've always wondered.”

“Most people don't realize,” she said. “Plus it's painful.
His body wants more and more and he is giving it less. That's why he’s so sick.
He was supposed to be stepping down but then Z-Day happened and it's not like
he can just go to his dealer. He's been using more than he’s supposed to be using,
hiding it from me, and now he’s almost out.”

“I didn't mean to pry,” I said, feeling bad now that she had
to explain all this to me.

“No,” she said. “You didn't pry. I offered. It feels good to
be able to talk about this with someone. I am glad you are here.”

“Me too,” I said.

“You wanna take a walk outside?”

“Is that really safe?”

“It has been,” she said. “Usually I just stay on the patio
and look out at the ocean. It's really pretty with the light from the moon
hitting the water as the waves roll in.”

“Let's do it,” I said standing up.

We walked outside and sat on the patio. The moon was almost
all the way full. It was huge and white, putting off a soft light illuminating
everything below. Looking out over the ocean I saw what looked like a man
jogging along the water’s edge. There didn't appear to be anyone chasing him.

“What's that?” I said pointing at him.

“I've seen him down there before,” Felicity said. “Just
jogging along like nothing ever happened.”

“Maybe that's his way of trying to get back a piece of his
old life.”

“I think you're right.”

Without saying a word, she reached over and took me by the
hand. We sat in silence watching the man disappear from sight in the distance.
Being with her felt easy, like being totally at home. I could see why Jackson
would want her with him while he battled to get sober.

“I'm tired now,” she said after a while, standing up and
stretching like a cat. “Time to go to sleep.”

I got up and we walked back inside, locking the door behind
us.

“Thanks for listening.”

“No problem,” I shrugged. She leaned over and kissed me on
the cheek.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” she said, walking down the
hall. I stood rooted in place for a moment, distracted by her unexpected
display of affection. Slowly, I forced myself to head back down to my guest
room. I locked the door and sat on the bed daydreaming about possibilities
until sleep finally took me under.

I remember having bad dreams all night, but couldn’t
remember what they were about for the most part. Maybe it was the “Jamaican”
chicken trying to fight its way back out. Maybe it was the feeling of dread
that had come over me shortly after I locked myself in for the night. I tossed
and turned for a while, trying to fight off a string of nasty thoughts with
little success. I thought about my brother dying, about the bodies piled up at
the school we visited, about Joel and Tom. No matter how hard I tried, I could
not seem to calm my mind. Eventually the dark emptiness of sleep pulled me under
all the way.

I had a series of overlapping, graphic dreams early in the
morning before waking up. They slipped one into the next—like watching
several short movies on fast forward as I fought to wake up. The last thing I
remembered before getting up was running on the beach with Felicity. We were
serenely holding hands while zombies in the distance surfed on huge metal
pieces of a jumbo jet they'd pulled apart and taken right out of the sky,
mid-flight. That part was kinda like a cool music video.

Benji was in the dream too, dressed just like a tiny version
of Jackson. I was worried about him so I chased him up the beach and back into
the house. He locked himself in the guest bathroom trying to hide. I knocked
down the door in time to catch him shooting heroin in his arm.

“Don't worry about it,” he told me. “It's just a little
death to even me out.”

I looked down to where he had put the needle in and saw that
the skin around the mark was dying and turning gray. Soon it began to spread up
his arm and across his body until he was the same complexion as the walking
dead. His eyes turned solid black and he let out a roar as he transformed all
the way into a zombie. The last I remembered was him lunging at me while I
stood rooted to the ground in total shock.

I woke with a start. I was sweating in spite of the room
being cool. The sun was up. It had to be late. I couldn't believe I'd actually
slept in after tossing and turning all night long.

Almost immediately my dreams faded away, leaving me grasping
to remember what they were. I shook my head to wake up and went out toward the
living room. Benji was sitting on the sofa looking completely catatonic. It
reminded me of Tom after Joel got shot.

Man,
I thought.
That seems like years ago instead
of just days. Time is moving way too fast.

“What's up?” I asked. He didn't answer me. I heard the
toilet flush and Felicity came out of the bathroom. Her eyes were red raw from
crying. She still had streaks of makeup on her face. She threw herself into my
arms and hugged me, sobbing so hard that her whole body shook.

“What is going on?” I asked. “Who died?”

Benji turned and glared at me. Felicity pulled away. She
looked really hurt for a second, then it faded.

“Jackson killed himself last night,” she said at last. Cold
shock ran through me at the news. How could I have said something so stupid and
insensitive? I was always saying or doing the wrong thing around her!
I am
such an idiot
, I thought.

“What?” I finally asked. “I'm so sorry. Oh my God. How, I
mean, why did he do it?” She waved a piece of paper in her right hand at me. I
realized it was a suicide note.
This wasn't how things were supposed to go
today,
I thought.
I was just hoping to get up, grub down on a portable
meal of hot space age blueberry pancakes, and hit the road. This definitely
complicated things.
It may sound cold but the last thing I was looking for
at that point was another complication. After what happened in New Lompoc, all
I wanted to do was just get to Moto's base and settle in. The sooner I could
put this madness behind me and forget about it, the better.

“He left a note,” she said.