Zombie Zora

by R.G. Richards

Sleep was impossible after that. Charley and Jones went to check our perimeter, truth be told, they wanted to get away from me. I was left with my friend and my stomach churned. Brittany and I sat with our backs against a wall with our knees to our chests. I needed to apologize to my friend. I searched my heart for words, they never came.

  “Zee?”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “You’re my friend and I love you, but you are a head case.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “God, Zee. How could you do that?”

  “I thought he was a zombie.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “I did, Britt!”

  “Maybe you should examine your hatred. You know, find out what is at the bottom of it.”

  I stayed silent, arguing would do no good.

  “Are you going to say anything?”

  “What can I say?”

  “Zee. Why did you do it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why did you freak out when Thompson died?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did you sleep with Thompson?”

  “God, no!”

  “It’s about feelings, Zee. You have feelings that you hide and when you do, they still come out, it just happens in a crazy kind of way that hurts everyone. Get a grip, Zee, lighten up. I mean . . . what was up with you? We were laughing and blowing off steam and you were just . . . I don’t know, Zee. It’s not normal.”

  “The world is ending and you think I’m not normal because I have priorities and don’t want to waste my time playing charades? I’m the weird one, when you were playing with food, chasing it around the table instead of eating it?”

  “Zee! Stop it! Stop trying to turn things around. What you did was crazy. If I hadn’t stopped you, you would have shot and killed an innocent man. We’re a team, all of us. Yes, we are surrounded by danger and can die any minute, but that is no excuse to not live. That is no excuse to not be happy and laugh. No excuse to isolate yourself and pretend we have no priorities or feelings or common sense. You have to do something to stay sane, we are doing that. Why can’t you?”

  “I’m trying,” I uttered.

  “Try harder.”

  Brittany was not letting me get away with anything, she shouldn’t. I almost killed an innocent human being, one of the few left in the world. I had no defense and every argument I wanted to use was flat and weak.

  The boys came back, their laughter filtered through the door. I would apologize as soon as he came in and do my best to act normal. They rumbled the cans as they crossed them and laughed to themselves. The door opened and they were all smiles.

  Immediately, I got to my feet. “I’m sorry, guys. I’m especially sorry to you, Charley. I hope one day you can forgive me.”

  I waited. The silence was killing me.

  Brittany took my hand. “Hey, guys. I want you both to meet my friend, Zora. If you become her friend, like me, you can call her Zee.”

  My face reddened. I lowered my head to hide my face, I wanted to die. Brittany enjoyed her torture. The look on her face said she wouldn’t stop.

  “Zee is from a large family, her mother pushed out a dozen puppies. And don’t forget mommy number two, she pushed out six. Yay, Zee! Now, I want you both to look at these hips and believe me when I say it—she is a chip off the old block. You can’t go wrong with this one.”

  If I could have hung my head lower, I would have. She reamed me out good. I had it coming and kept telling myself not to freak out and act crazy. I could do this, I could be fun. The two people I trusted most had told me to relax and live for the day. To enjoy life before it ended. I needed to enjoy life.

  “Now, we don’t want this young, buxom filly going to the glue factory all depressed and a sourpuss. No! If we die tomorrow, this stallion is going to ride tonight. Can I get an Amen?”

  “Amen,” said Jones.

  “Amen to the fillies,” roared Charley.

  “We’re all young,” shouted Brittany. “We’re all single! The world is burning! And we’re all going to hell! Whoo!”

  “Whoo!” echoed the boys. I stood laughing, red faced.

  Brittany continued, “If we were near a club, I’d be rocking tonight. Anybody got any music?”

  “No,” said Jones. “I got a substitute.”

  Jones gave his famous grin and went for his pack. We set the table up and patiently waited with our cups for him to pour us a drink.

  “To the brave men and women of the 59th,” said Jones.

  We downed our first shot.

  “To friends who can whack the hell out of zombies,” said Charley.

  We downed another shot.

  “To me,” said Brittany. “What? It’s my party.”

  We downed another shot.

  “Make it good, girl,” said Brittany. She gave me a wink.

  “To . . . to the last man standing. Hooah!”

  “Hooah!” said Brittany.

  “Hooah!” said Jones.

  “Hooah!” shouted Charley. We downed another. I gasped, my throat burned. I was not the drinker my friends were. Tears filled my eyes and I coughed.

  “I don’t have any music, but I have an exciting game we can play,” Charley said.

  “What?”

  “Truth or Dare, the drinking version.”

  “No, pick something else. I hate that game.”

  Charley gave it some thought. He didn’t get a chance to say anything, Brittany answered. “Strip Poker, we have the cards, the table, and the bodies.”

  Everyone immediately turned to gaze at me. As if I had a problem with it. I did. I looked at their drunken faces, waiting for my timid response, hoping I would not be a wet blanket for yet another asinine suggestion. I smiled.

  “I’m game.”

  “All right,” said Brittany.

  The boys grinned at each other, afraid to reply, in case I had a change of heart. Jones poured another round and I couldn’t wait to wrap my hands around my teacup and gain some liquid courage.

  Only one of us ever played the game, so in a drunken stupor that took several minutes to complete, we agreed to basic rules. Jones nearly fell as he rose to emphatically state that only the winner kept their clothes on, the losers would each remove an article of clothing after each round. Charley suggested that for bets, we did a round of Truth or Dare; he was determined to play his favorite game and wouldn’t let it go. We agreed to get play underway.

  Brittany and I excused ourselves and went to the bathroom. When we came back, each of us had fashioned a hair scarf, wore an extra shirt, and proclaimed our weapons are jewelry and therefore clothing—I had a knife in each back pocket and in each sock. The boys moaned and groaned before adding their own changes to the aforementioned rules to even out the odds.

  Throughout the game, whenever Brittany dealt the cards, I usually won. I figured she was cheating for my benefit. As the game progressed, I had the most clothes on, followed by Brittany. I should have spoken up and confronted her for cheating, the boys were too drunk to make a challenge. On the one hand, a rigged game in my favor bothered me, but on the other, it’s nice to have a friend look out for you. Brittany knew me well. She knew I was pushing the envelope and at any minute, would reach my limit. Thank God for Brittany.

  Toward the end of our play, Brittany had on a white tank top and red panties and had lost her hairnet, scarf, boots, socks, pants, shirt, and weapons. I, likewise, was down to a blue shirt, blue bra, and matching panties. Since I was sitting, I surrendered my pants to keep my shirt. Though she cheated, I assume the boys were master cheaters and turned the tables. They plied us with drinks and stories. We couldn’t tell if they were lying or telling the truth, a perfect distraction for their hidden agenda.

  Charley was at the table in white underwear and Jones was on top of the world wearing blue socks and shorts.

  Jones dealt and the betting began. Brittany took an easy Dare and flashed Jones. On Charley’s turn, his eyes found mine
and his grin, insatiable. “Truth or Dare, Zora?”

  I eyed him up and down, knowing little about him. I thought it best not to test the waters. I had a winning hand and this would end it all. “Truth.”

  “If you came over and passionately kissed us both, I mean with tongue and all, who do you think would be the better kisser, Jones or me?”

  “That’s not a Truth, that’s a Dare.”

  “No, it’s not, I’m not daring you to do anything, except tell the truth like you’ve been wanting to.”

  “I don’t want to do anything.” Smug bastard.

  “Zee,” said Brittany. She wasn’t so drunk that she couldn’t slap me. “It’s a simple question, just answer it.”

  “That’s not a question, it’s a Dare and I won’t. I said Truth and I meant Truth.”

  “Zee! My God, girl. It’s not earth-shattering news. I mean for real!”

  “Fine,” I fumed. “Jones would be the better kisser. He has a heart.”

  I wanted my words to sting and make him feel as uneasy as I felt. More than likely I flubbed my attack. He smiled and leaned back in his chair.

  “All right, Zee,” said Jones. “You’re up.”

  I racked my brain deciding who to go after. Of course, it had to be Charley. He only had his boxers and if he failed the challenge, I win. If he succeeds, we show our cards, again, I win. “Truth or Dare, Charley?”

  A coy smile, “Dare.”

  Asshole. Now, I had to rack my brain to come up with something good, something he would never do. “I Dare you . . . to kiss, Jones.” I had him, victory was mine.

  Brittany and Jones busted out laughing. I will admit, I joined in. To see the smug look wiped off his face thrilled me.

  Charley winked at Jones. He tried to hide it by putting his hand to his face, faking embarrassment, but I saw it. He gave me another smile, one of those like Thompson used to give me. Charley boldly rose and went to Jones. Oh my God! No! He smiled at me, bent down, took Jones’ hand, and looking at me, kissed it. “Task completed, I win. Now, let me see, panties or shirt, a tough choice, indeed. I think I better play it safe and choose the panties. I wouldn’t want you catching a chest cold, you know, pneumonia and all.”

  With every word he spoke, I boiled. Did he think he had me? “I won, you didn’t do it right.”

  “No,” thundered Charley, “I won! You said kiss him and I kissed him.”

  “That was his hand!” I shot back with all the boisterous anger I could muster.

  “Well,” he feigned surprise, “I know he is your friend and you want to give him a treat, but where exactly did you want me to kiss him?” he put his hand to his mouth in shock.

  Jones and Brittany were at it again. Their laughter was loud and annoying, I wanted to knock them both out. They were rolling, at my expense. “You bastard! You know I didn’t mean it that way. That’s not even the point, you cheated and you lost. I won!”

  I pointed, spit, and everything else, as I lost all traces of decorum. The thing that infuriated me most was his calmness, the smug bastard.

  “No, I won, Miss Goody Two-Shoes.”

  I threw the cards I was holding in his face. I picked up the ones near me and threw them as well. Charley lunged at me, and I at him. We hit the floor and rolled around. When we settled in one spot, my hands were wrapped around his throat and his around mine. The intensity of the moment added energy to my grip and I wanted to kill him. Flashes of what he had done to Thompson danced across my mind and I gripped tighter.

  Jones and Brittany hollered, screamed, and tugged at us both. None of it mattered to me, I was right and he was wrong and he was going to pay for it all. Finally. In the end, they resorted to the most unusual tactic imaginable. Jones hit Charley in the back with a baton at the same moment Brittany struck me. We both let go and groaned in pain. Brittany grabbed me and Jones grabbed Charley. Jones pulled him backward and dragged him into the large walk-in closet. Brittany held me tightly, squeezing the air out of my lungs, I nearly passed out.

  “Britt!”

  She let go. “Sorry, you left me no choice.”

  Common sense set in. I took a deep breath and it hurt like hell. I felt to see if I had a cracked rib, I didn’t though it felt like I did.

  “My God, Zee. How could you? You are a head case.”

  Heavy breathing was all I could manage. It took all my focus to get my breathing under control so I could relax and think rationally. When I did, I hated myself. The full extent of what I had done hit me and I felt remorse.

  “I don’t know why I did that, it just happened.” I pulled myself up to the wall.

  “You know, Zee. Hell, anybody looking could see it.”

  She was talking about Thompson again. I hate to admit it, she was right. I blame Charley for Thompson’s death, I always will.

  “I’ll apologize in the morning. It was the alcohol. You know how it intensifies things? I got a little crazy. From now on, no more alcohol, problem solved.”

  “Stick your head in the sand,” said Brittany. The look on her face was of anger, not confusion, as if she meant it as a question. “That’s your answer?”

  “I’m not sticking my head in the sand. I get a little out of control when I have too much to drink. It’s easy to fix, stop drinking. Problem solved.”

  “Look, Zee. We are living in hell for who knows how much longer. You have a choice between living before you die, really living, Zee, experiencing all that life has to offer. Or you can stick your head in the sand and be gloomy until death takes you. I have made my choice, you make yours.”

  Jones came out of the closet, picked up the table we knocked over, and sat down. He dare not look at me, I felt awful. Brittany went to the table and sat next to him. They lowered their voices and leaned in to talk to each other. I couldn’t hear, but whilst they talked, Brittany giggled.

  Even in these difficult times, Brittany found something to laugh about, something to be happy about. She and Jones laughed quietly. The fiasco the night turned into didn’t bother them one bit. I wish I could brush it off and began anew. It’s a much happier world they live in than I.

  I looked toward the closet door, it remained open and no sound came from within. I briefly wondered what he was doing and briefly allowed myself to wonder if he was in pain or asleep. Brittany and Jones recaptured my attention with their giggles. Afterward, Jones got up and closed the curtains, darkening the room again. By candle light, I sat against the wall and watched him and Brittany move the table against a far wall. He then took her hand and led her to the pallet on the floor and they disappeared beneath the covers. I heard the same giggling from the previous night and it dawned on me, this wasn’t a first for them. They hid it so well and she never said a word to me, her blood brother.

  I thought on what Brittany had said earlier about living life with reckless abandon. Perhaps, she chose tonight to let me know and fully commit. Perhaps, she chose long ago.

  I sat and zoned out. I thought of Thompson and how I felt about him and then I took an honest look at Charley. I tried to be scientific and stack the good and the bad and admit to painful truths. I liked Thompson and I liked how I felt when he touched me. He made me feel special and I liked it. I think I fought for his memory for those reasons.

  Taking a rational look at Charley, I will admit he is attractive and tall. His chest was a sculpture, a dream come true, and his blue eyes were dazzling. I didn’t know if feelings for him betrayed feelings for Thompson. I refused to consider or delve deeper into my psyche. I was content to only skim the surface and admit I liked the man.

  The last thing to do was to think about tomorrow and what if we died making our way to the camp. How did I want to die? What did I want to be my last thought? What would be my last perfect memory before dying? I had already come up with the answer. Brittany’s soft sigh reinforced it for me. For the rest of the night, Zora was dead. It was the only way I could think of to make the change. Tonight, I will live in the moment and tomorrow would
take care of itself.

  I got to my feet and walked to the closet. Inside, I found Charley lying on the floor on a pile of clothes. The closet was big and spacious, the size of the smallest bedroom in the house. He turned and looked at me. I read his apology in his face and smiled. Charley returned my smile. I pulled my shirt over my head and closed the door. To my surprise, the door creaked open a bit and candlelight flickered in the room. I gazed into his eyes and found something there I hadn’t expected to find. I lay on top of him and I kissed him. I shut out the world, forgot all my hang-ups, and I lived in the moment. Thompson, I’m dancing.

  Chapter Nineteen