Get Zombie: 8-Book Set (10 page)

The
boss, the main honcho in charge, Veronica – the warden –
took Janice, whispering soothing things to her. Janice kept nodding
at whatever she said. Her hair was a noisy mess. I gave Veronica a
stern look.

“Pepper
tried get Woodrow to push Janice down those stairs.”

Veronica
always had these two Russian girls by her at all times, both dressed
in white and wearing those little hats with the red cross. These
nurses/bodyguards were huge – muscular – arms the size of
legs, and it was like they had no necks.

“Bring
her to me,” Veronica demanded.

The
two nurses grunted and ran away.

Behind
me, in the stairwell, a nurse said:

“He's
finally dead!”

I
leaned against a wall. My food was coming back up. I had seen too
much. Janice was staring at me as Veronica spoke, and I wanted to
hold Janice, hug her, tell her everything was going to be okay.
Seeing her eyes made the sick feeling in my belly go away. I saw
ourselves in a big house on a mountain, away from the city, from the
world. Just the two of us alone and in love. That was it. She was the
one, man. The
one
. Was she thinking the same of me?

I
could hear Pepper screaming from somewhere, “Stay back,
Russians! I will disembowel myself, I swear! I don't even care
anymore! Blahhhhhh!” That scream went on for a whole minute.
Then those beefy nurses were dragging Pepper kicking and screaming. I
could barely understand them due to their thick accents, but
apparently Pepper waved a steak knife at them and threatened to
perform
jigai
.
It was how women committed suicide in old Japan.

The
cops and ambulance arrived, and the home was quiet again. Pepper's
son, Kilt, who was some hotshot doctor, stood by her as the cops
slapped on the cuffs. Janice and I walked outside and watched,
arm-in-arm, as Pepper was put into the police car. Halfway in, she
turned around and spat a glob of goo at Janice, “I'll kill ya,
bitch! I'LL KILL YAAA!

The
cop-lady said something nasty in Filipino and shoved her in. Pepper
looked at me and smiled and licked her lips and banged her head
against the window. It cracked. Pepper rubbed her tongue on the
glass, drooling all over it. Did she think that was sexy? That I
would find it attractive? I told Janice how her final exit was bound
to happen. She had pushed too many buttons; made too many weird
mistakes. Sometimes Pepper broke out of the home. The police always
find her at a church in Diamond Head called Dresela's Hope, and she'd
always, always, always be covered in chicken's blood, performing
unusual rites with her other old friends. She claims they're just
doing “– Art projects for Jesus! God help us, we're just
old people! We don't understand what we're doing! Where am I? How did
I get here?”

The
cops bought it all the time and simply returned them to the home. The
home's big boss had enough, so now – finally – Pepper's
gone for good. I hoped she would rot in jail. I was
desperate
for it.

Janice
and I watched until the police car went up and over the hill, just to
be sure this was all real. A small part of me feared that she'd BURST
from the car and fly around on her broom and come after us. It didn't
happen. She was gone, baby, gone. I kissed the warm woman by my side.

That
night I accompanied Janice in her bed.

I
was a true gentleman, if I may say so.

Emphasis
on
gentle
.

PART TWO

THE PILL

JANICE

Jackson
told me all about Pepper: Her having a rich preacher-husband and a
church-mansion, and her crazy doctor-son that once fused a dog and a
cat. This was Kilt, and he ran a private dental practice in downtown
Chinatown. I can't express how grateful I was that Pepper was taken
away – GONE from the home. Things around the place were
noticeably nicer –
peacefuller
, if that's even a word.
More and more children populated the home as the days went on.

Later,
I finally got to see that clown Jackson hates so much. And yes, he
was annoying. He had a painted red smile, but his eyes were dead. He
looked bored. He yawned when juggling his fire sticks, yawned when
doing his Cup & Ball magic trick, yawned when he sawed his
assistant in half, and even yawned when doing a handstand. His whole
act took thirty minutes. He packed up his stuff, clicked his heels
together, and saluted us. “Smell ya later, Folksies,” he
yawned.

He
walked out. Jackson picked up a baseball bat that was just there for
some reason and made to charge after the clown. I held him back.

“Peace
be with you.”

His
nostrils flared. “I'm gonna kill him! Before his act started, I
asked him
politely
to not call us that WORD. And he still did
it! I'm gonna beat some nonsense out of him.”

I
held him tighter.

“Let
it go. It's important to let it go. Stress is a killer,” I
said. “Just breathe it out.”

He
did, and his breaths came out in little shakes. I kissed him.

“Remember,
you can always choose
peace
. Be the master of your emotions.
Don't let them take over you. Choose peace. It's just a choice. No
one is holding a gun to your mind.”

Feeling
much better, he asked if I'd like to do some morning exercises with
him. I said I'd be delighted, so we learned some karate from Mr.
Gobayashi. He was a small, old man, but don't let that fool you. He
blocked all our kicks and punches, and even came close to flipping
Jackson over, but the supervising nurse warned that tossing an old
man by the wrist might not be such a wise idea.

We
were the only ones exercising. The others watched a television set
that dangled from the ceiling by a metal rod. It was for their own
good. Too many fights started over who got to watch which channel. A
commercial played, and a curious thing happened. The old people came
alive
. Their faces lit up. Many of them smiled.

SMILED,
I tell you.

A
Korean woman with no cliched accent jumped up from her wheelchair
with a big grin on her face, jabbing her skinny finger at the TV.
“Everyone, come quick!” she said.

“It's
playing again!” said an old man in sailor clothes. He reminded
me of Popeye.

“Move
a'soid!” said an old British man.

“I
want it! I want it!” said a woman on crutches with a huge
bandage-wrap covering one side of her burnt face.

“My
kids are buying THIS for me,” said another. She whispered it to
a friend, as if afraid the others would hear and steal it from her.

But
what was IT?

I
joined the growing group that huddled under the TV. Everyone was
looking up and reminded me of baby birds ready for mamma to feed'em
all worms.

The
commercial played classical music while Dr. Kilt blabbed.

“Are
you old?” he asked. “Are you lame? Does life feel dead to
you? Is there no excitement in your existence? Well, have I got the
answer to remedy your boredom.”

An
image of a white and red pill filled the screen.

“Get
Kilt!” the doctor said.

The
scene changed, and then I saw all these old people dancing in a hip
hop club called Pannies – and they were really
moving
.
It was amazing. Many danced like robots and were challenging the
youth. It looked like a grand old time. They were all smiles. It was
unbelievable. Was I looking at young people wearing masks of old
people? Was it all
real?
The scene changed to an old woman at
a park, spinning a basketball on her finger. Jackson pushed by me.

“It's
Oja! She's on TV!”

I
wondered,
so THIS is what Dr. Kilt did to her.
And then I
wondered darker thoughts.
Did they force the pill on her? Was she
a test rat?

“First
I was lost,” Oja said, “but now I am found. Yippie!”

She
was all over the place – dunking basketballs, jumping over
hurdles and lifting weights and hitting home runs and arm wrestling a
bald man that had so much muscle. She SLAMMED his arm down and broke
the table in two and won the match. The man shouted in pain and held
his elbow and ran off, weeping. Oja jumped up, eyes to Heaven, mouth
drooling. “I feel so young!” she said and punched through
a wall. She pulled out a glass mug of piss-colored beer and drank. “I
am invigorated!” she yelled. As youthful as she seemed...I
found it odd that her voice was still old and crackly. The scene
switched to a dojo, and, dressed in a karate uniform, Oja flipped
over a young Asian man disguised as a robber.

Everyone
around me cheered. At the end of the commercial, Oja gave the camera
the thumbs up.

“Get
Kilt!” she said.

And
then she shrieked something unintelligible and dove her forehead
through a stack of bricks.
Burning
bricks. She brought her
hands together in prayer and bowed to the camera. There was no blood.
Everyone clapped and hollered and stomped their feet, thanking Jesus
and Buddha. They got on their cell phones and
begged
their
kids to buy them this Kilt-thing. Some of the old people flat out
demanded
their kids buy them the energy pill. People paced all
around the place with their phones glued to their greasy ears, many
crying, pleading, mumbling. Some things I overheard: “You don't
love me anymore!” “I hate you!” “I love you!”
“Screw you!” “Thank you!” “You owe me!”
“You came out of me!” and “I'll pay you back
later.” Hanna Jert, a black woman in a white wheelchair, just
sat there in a trance, eyes fixed to the screen. A nurse tried to
snap her out of it – snapped her fingers in front of Hanna's
face – but it was no good. The nurse even touched the old
woman's eyeball. Nothing happened. Hanna wasn't smiling, but she did
start nodding over and over again.

Someone
in the room was playing the piccolo. People danced. All were merry.

I
thought about Kilt all night while in bed, tossing and turning. My
pillow was covered in sweat. I wanted some Kilt. Just a little
sample. Just to see if it worked. I imagined myself running around
and doing whatever I wanted that my body currently refused to do. I
have to be honest. I was excited. An irritating part of me whined
that I was betraying everything I worked for – all those hours
of weight training for nothing, miles of jogging for nothing, healthy
eating for nothing – all easily replaced by a big pill. And it
was pretty big. The size of a double A battery, and you had to
swallow it whole. No cutting it up. That was the rule. That, and
don't give it to children 79 years old or younger.

CLAIR
ALTAIR

Some
nurse called me, and when I found out what Fred did to our mother –
where he put her – I took a swing at him...got him right on the
nose.
I was gonna get my mom out of that hell hole.
She was
coming home with me...to the hills. Fred called me stupid and then he
called me a masochist, which I don't think is even the right word to
use, but I see where he was going with it. For some reason, the
crotch area of Fred's pants was always messy. He said with my mom
home we'd have no time to live our lives. I punched his face and sent
him crashing into a glass table. Whatever. He could handle it. Mr.
Athlete...he could handle a little glass in his mouth. I didn't look
as he cried his way out of my house. I had no problem making my mom
my
responsibility. It was fair. It was my duty to take care of
her. She gave birth to me. She deserved to be pampered. Besides...I
was a single woman with no kid. Until then, my mom would be good
practice, what with the diaper changing and all. As you can tell, I
had no idea what it took to take care of an elderly person. But I'd
damn try my best to take care of my own MOTHER. (I'm looking at you,
Fred.)

When
I got to the home, the place was electric with energy. I got out my
briefcase and scanned the area. Old people were laughing and excited
and hugging their kids. Almost everyone had presents. Mom was in her
room, in bed with some old guy. He jumped up with the blanket tied
around his waist, excused himself, and ran out. Before my mom could
say anything, I was at her drawer, stuffing the briefcase I brought.
She didn't want to leave. She wanted to stay with her new man...this
Mr. Jackson.

“Just
gimme Kilt, and leave me. I'll be all right.”

I
didn't understand.

“What's
a kilt?”

“It's
an...energy pill,” Mom said.

She
couldn't even look at me. I was disgusted. I complained about how she
was
supposed
to be a health guru, but she just rolled her eyes
and nodded her head and went, “Yeah, yeah”. It didn't
matter. I was taking her home where she'd be happy and safe, and I
didn't care what she said. It was for her own good, you understand? I
was too late. She grew attached to the place too SOON. I'd have to
drag her away kicking and biting. All for her own good. These
so-called “homes” were dangerous. I saw all those
programs – all those undercover programs about the dreaded,
disgusting things nurses did to the elderly. I shivered as I threw
Mom's socks into the briefcase. She crossed her arms and threw her
head back into her pillow and refused to leave.

I
told her Jackson could visit, but that wasn't the problem.

Mom
thought we didn't care about her. I was hurt. Fred didn't care, sure,
but I DID. She didn't believe me. She just kept her arms crossed and
stared forward...crying. I grabbed her and tried to pull her out of
bed, but she started screaming into my ear bloody murder. That
Jackson guy rushed in with a baseball bat and SMASHED a lamp. That
got my attention. I let Mom go and threw my hands up in surrender.
Mom ran to her man and hugged him. Jackson pointed the bat at me,
keeping me away.

“We
think you better leave,” he said.