Dead City

by James Ponti

  “Remember the no-breathers policy?” Alex asked.

  “How could I forget?”

  He looked me in the eye. “They take that seriously. So be careful.”

  I nodded.

  Just like that, they disappeared into the crowd and I was all alone. And here’s the hard part. Even if everyone at this party was alive and it was being held in the courtyard of my apartment building, I’d still have trouble fitting in. Social situations baffle me. I never know what to say or do.

  I figured I’d have a better shot dealing with the merchants, so I made my way to their side of the tracks. Most of them were selling items to solve problems specific to the undead.

  I watched a man demonstrate a tiny but high-powered flashlight. He pointed it down the subway tunnel, and it illuminated much farther than I would have thought possible.

  I couldn’t help thinking that a light like that would have come in handy in the aqueduct. I was admiring it when a pair of hands suddenly grabbed my shoulders from behind. I tried to pull away, but the grip was too tight.

  Then this unseen person leaned up and whispered into my ear, “Makeup like that won’t get you too far.”

  I couldn’t believe it. I hadn’t even lasted fifteen minutes. I was trying to figure out an escape plan when she whispered something else.

  “Come to my booth, and I’ll show you how to pass for the living.”

  I looked over my shoulder and saw the smiling face of a woman who wore way too much makeup. She hadn’t blown my cover at all. She was just trying to make a sale.

  She led me to a table filled with homemade beauty supplies and tried to convince me that I just “had to have” some of her special lotions and creams. She called them Betty’s Beauty Balms.

  “Look at your hands,” she said with mock terror. “There’s no way you could pass those off as live human flesh. No offense.”

  “None taken,” I replied, trying not to laugh.

  “They’re too pale,” she explained. “But try a dab of this, and you’ll see a miracle.”

  She scooped out a glob of coffee-colored cream and smeared it all over the back of my hand. Making it the same color as the Salinger sisters after one of their spray-on tanning sessions.

  “See what I mean?” she said. “Now you almost look human.”

  “Almost,” I said, still trying not to laugh. “Like you promised, it’s a miracle.”

  “Great, so how many jars do you want to buy?” she asked hopefully. “Just ten dollars each.”

  “I’ll have to think about it,” I answered, trying to be polite. “Let me get back to you.”

  She went to show me something else, but I just turned away. I walked along the row of booths and stopped at a table where a man was selling something I thought should be in high demand in Dead City: toothpaste.

  At least that’s what I thought it was until he held up a tube and asked, “Hungry?”

  I was confused until he squeezed a dollop of brown paste onto a plastic spoon and I realized that it was food. Or at least the undead version of food.

  Alex and Natalie had both warned me about this. Unless they were trying to pass themselves off in front of the living, the undead didn’t eat normal food. Instead, they usually ate a paste enriched with key vitamins and nutrients. They told me it wasn’t harmful to the living, but since the undead had heightened senses of taste and smell, what was pleasing to them was not to us.

  “Lots of calcium and vitamin D for your bones,” he said, offering it to me. It was so unappetizing, it made cafeteria food look tasty. But I was worried that rejecting it might give me away.

  I thought about the no-breathers policy and forced a smile. “Thanks. I’d love to try some.”

  My plan was to take it all in one big bite. I tried to suck it down quick enough to keep from actually tasting it, but that didn’t work.

  It tasted kind of like a big glob of wasabi I once ate by accident at a Japanese restaurant. As I forced myself to swallow it, I felt a burning sensation in my mouth and tears welling up in my eyes.

  “Delicious, isn’t it?” he asked.

  I couldn’t speak, so I just nodded and went, “Mmmm.”

  Fearful of what might have been waiting next, I bypassed all the other tables until I reached the end of the row. There, I came upon a guy who looked like he might be in college, giving a speech to anyone who would listen. He was bald and had a long scar that ran along his cheek and up to the top of his scalp. I wondered if it was the result of whatever had killed him. He passionately argued for the undead to stand up for their rights.

  “Why should we hide underground like frightened moles?” he demanded. “We did not choose to be this way. We did not ask to lose the sweet taste of fresh air and the warm comfort of sunlight against our skin. We have as much claim to this city as the living. We need to come together and march forward as a group with one voice, to confront those who scare us so.”

  “You’ll certainly scare them back with that scar of yours,” someone heckled him.

  It didn’t seem to bother him that no one was agreeing with him. Some of the people laughed, and a couple tried to goad him into an argument, but he just kept making his points. That’s when I realized something.

  He was absolutely right.

  I thought back to the day the others had asked me to become an Omega. They said it was our responsibility to police and protect the undead. Training had focused a great deal on the policing part, but this trip to the flatline party and this speech had reminded me about the need to protect as well.

  Most of the people at this party weren’t dangerous to anyone. They just wanted to live in peace. Even if their version of living was different from what we’re used to, it seemed like a fair request.

  As others continued to give him a hard time, he looked into the crowd for a friendly face, and he settled on mine.

  “What about you? Do you think the living know more than we do?”

  I thought about it for a second. “No,” I answered honestly. “I think they know less than we do.”

  He cocked his head to the side, surprised by what I had said. “What do you mean?”

  “They only know what it’s like to be alive,” I replied. “We know that too. But they have no idea what it’s like not to be alive. That’s something they’ll never understand.”

  He smiled and nodded. “Absolutely. This one speaks the truth.”

  I was pleased . . . and a little freaked out. Not only was I able to pass myself off as undead (pleased), I was beginning to think that I might fit in better among them than among the living (freaked out).

  Just then another hand grabbed my shoulder from behind. This time it wasn’t a vendor. It was Alex.

  “We told you to blend in,” he said with a laugh. “Not stand out.”

  Natalie and Grayson walked up from the other side.

  “You made it to thirty minutes,” she said, pleased. “Let’s get out of here before you wind up running for zombie council.”

  She laughed, and I could tell by their expressions that they were happy with how I had done.

  “How do we get out?” I asked. “The same tunnel we used to get here?”

  “Nah,” Alex said. “We should go straight to the surface. I know a shortcut.”

  As we followed Alex, Grayson leaned toward me and whispered, “I liked what you said about the living and the undead. You’re absolutely right.”

  Alex led us to one of the subway station’s old stairwells. It was blocked off by a metal gate, which he managed to pry open a little.

  “This should take us up to the street,” he said.

  We had to squeeze through the opening one at a time. I was the last one in our group, and there was a zombie right behind me using the same exit.

  I smiled at him, but he didn’t respond. If I had to guess, I would have said he was a Level 3, but I wasn’t sure.

  When it was my turn to squeeze past the gate, one of the metal links scratched a cut all along
my forearm. It burned with pain, but I remembered not to cry out or make any pained expressions.

  After all, only breathers feel pain.

  What I wasn’t able to control, unfortunately, was the trickle of blood that started to run from my elbow to my wrist.

  I looked back and saw the zombie staring first at the blood and then at me. Even in the darkness, there was no mistaking the orange-and-yellow glow of his teeth as he smiled and prepared to attack.

  It’s Time to Get My Zeke On

  Guys, we’ve got a problem.” I tried to sound calm, but the squeal of my voice was a dead giveaway that I was anything but.

  Natalie was right in front of me. When she turned, she could see the blood on my arm and the look on the zombie’s face. She yanked me through the gate and tried to slam it shut on the Level 3 killing machine before he could come after me.

  “Get out! Get out!” she barked.

  Natalie did her best to hold the gate closed while the rest of us started to run up the stairwell. The last thing we needed was a fight with a zombie at a flatline party. Considering we were outnumbered about four hundred to four, there was no way that could turn out well.

  It’s amazing how fast and strong you are when you’re properly motivated. I was able to clear three steps at a time as we raced up the stairs to the next level. Unfortunately, when we got there, we ran into a dead end.

  “I thought you said this was a shortcut,” I wailed.

  “You know, I may have been thinking about the ghost station over on Worth,” Alex offered sheepishly. “I get them confused.”

  Seconds later, Natalie was barreling toward us.

  “He’s coming and he’s unhappy!” she exclaimed. “We have got to move!”

  She bolted out onto the mezzanine, and we were right behind her. I could hear the party going on below; luckily, they couldn’t see us from where they were. We ran full speed toward an exit that led to the street.

  The zombie, however, was amazingly fast. He caught up to us halfway across the mezzanine and managed to kick my ankle in midstride. Both of us crashed and skidded across the floor.

  He was a little slower getting up, though, which gave the four of us enough time to surround him. He sat there for a moment, looking from person to person, trying to figure out what to do.

  “Make sure no one followed us,” Alex told Grayson.

  “Got it,” Grayson replied as he hurried over to the stairwell.

  At this point I expected Alex to show off his skills and wipe the floor with this guy. Instead, he walked over to Natalie and then whispered to her. The zombie, meanwhile, slowly stood, and with everyone else suddenly busy, he began to size me up.

  “Hey, guys,” I said, trying to redirect their attention back to the situation. “You want to check this out?”

  Grayson came back from the stairwell. “We’re clear. It’s just us.”

  The zombie was now striking a combat pose. He looked just like Alex did when we practiced martial arts at the YMCA. Only he had terrifying teeth and very angry eyes.

  “Seriously, guys,” I pleaded. “How about a little help here?”

  Alex looked at me and smiled. “Nope.”

  I’ve got to say, that’s not what I expected to hear.

  “What do you mean, ‘nope’?”

  “You’re on your own,” he answered. “This will be the final portion of your exam.”

  I turned back toward the Level 3. He was full of hate, and he was about to attack.

  “C’mon, guys,” I begged. “Enough with the joking.”

  “We’re not joking,” Natalie said. “You can do this.”

  “Use what we’ve taught you,” Grayson added. He made a clapping motion with his hands to remind me of CLAP. CLAP is the memory tool Omegas are taught for the proper procedure when confronting the undead. At a moment like this, it seemed a little . . . inadequate.

  “CLAP?” I said, disbelieving. “Seriously?”

  “It works,” Grayson promised. “Go through the steps.”

  I scanned their faces, desperate to see a smile or a laugh, but when I saw their serious expressions, I realized I was going to have to fight this guy.

  I turned back to the Level 3 and flashed a phony smile as I ran through CLAP in my head. C is for “calm,” I thought. The first thing an Omega is supposed to do is calm the situation.

  “Hey,” I said all friendly-like. “Let’s start over. First of all, I want to apologize for my behavior. I should not have come to your flatline party. That’s my bad. Totally on me. But now I’ve left the party, right? So the problem’s solved. And I promise I won’t come back.”

  He snorted and started to move toward me. I kept my distance by matching every step of his with a step backward.

  “Besides, did you hear me in there? I gave a pretty strong argument in favor of the rights of the undead. I’m on your side. I want to be a friend.”

  I offered my hand in friendship. He moved toward it, but instead of shaking, he slapped me across the palm. It stung and instantly started to throb.

  So much for C. It was time to move on to L. L is for “listen.” An Omega is supposed to listen and try to understand what’s causing the zombie’s anger.

  “Maybe ‘friend’ is too strong a word,” I continued. “But I can see that you’re upset. Why don’t you tell me why, so we can work out a solution and settle this peacefully?”

  He yelled something impossible to decipher as he charged me again. This time he was swinging wildly, and one swing slammed against my head and shoulder, knocking me to the floor.

  “Level 3s aren’t big talkers,” Natalie advised from the sidelines. “Especially when it comes to their feelings. You might want to skip to the next step.”

  “Thanks so much,” I said sarcastically as I stood up and brushed the dust off my hands and legs. “Seriously.”

  “Glad to be of help,” she shot back with equal sass.

  A is for “avoidance.” An Omega should do everything possible to avoid a physical confrontation.

  “I can tell we’re not going to be able to work this out,” I said to the zombie. “So I’m going to leave.”

  I moved toward the exit, but he grabbed me from behind and slammed me against the wall. Pain shot through my body. I was hot and sweaty and not in the mood to take this anymore.

  “Can I go to the last step now?” I asked as clearly as I could with my face pressed up against the tiled mosaic.

  “Yes,” Alex said. “Start with the first thing I taught you.”

  I pushed back from the wall and shoved the zombie away to create a little space between us. “Bad news, buddy,” I said with as much attitude as I could muster. “P is for ‘punish.’ ”

  Alex’s first lesson was simple: Go for the head.

  The zombie came at me, and I delivered a punch right into his face. It caught him completely off guard and knocked him to the ground.

  I should have finished him off then, but I didn’t. The problem was that despite all my training, I had never been in a fight. I was used to pads and sportsmanship. This was all-out war, and I was being too polite.

  Alex, Grayson, and Natalie continued to watch from the sidelines, offering nothing more than moral support as the zombie and I traded blows. I was using a combination of Jeet Kune Do, fencing, and everything that Alex had taught me.

  The zombie was wild and undisciplined, which made it hard to fight him. He didn’t land too many punches, but I couldn’t predict how he was going to fight.

  At one point he threw a punch at me. I was able to move out of the way and grab his arm. I held on to it tight and tried to do a judo throw. When I did, his arm literally came out of its socket and off his body.

  As if it wasn’t gross enough to have an actual severed arm in my hand, my teammates now found humor in the situation.

  “I’d give you a hand,” Grayson offered, “but it looks like you already have too many.”

  “Now that was funny,” Natalie said with a laugh
as she gave him a high five.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  I tossed the arm at them, and they had to jump out of the way to keep from getting hit. I turned and then charged right at the zombie and threw a punch that broke through his rib cage and inside his chest.

  When I pulled out my fist, it was dripping with purple-and-red goop that almost made me throw up. It was like the worst biology lab ever.

  This, of course, brought only more laughter from my so-called teammates.

  “Are you guys just going to sit there and laugh all night?” I snapped, a little peeved.

  “That depends,” Alex shot back. “Are you just going to keep goofing off? Or are you going to use what we’ve taught you?”

  He was right. This zombie was a bad guy, and I was going way too easy on him.

  “Seriously, how hard can it be to go for the head?” Natalie pointed out. “He’s only got one arm.”

  The zombie moved toward me again, slime coming out of his chest and his arm socket. I thought back to my first class with Alex and the Jeet Kune Do move I had done to him.

  I tried to move as fluidly as possible as I dipped down low, spun around, and popped up right next to him. He didn’t have a chance. I delivered three quick punches to the head, and the zombie dropped like a rock.

  I was stunned, unsure of what had just happened. But he wasn’t moving. He was dead. My first instinct was to feel bad. I think Grayson was the one who realized this.

  “Don’t,” he said to me. “Don’t feel guilty for one second. He was bad. He was looking to hurt you, us, anyone who looked at him the wrong way.”

  “Yes, but . . .” I motioned toward the party as I tried to put my feelings into words. “I was just arguing for zombie rights.”

  “His existence and his behavior put all those good people in danger,” continued Grayson. “You helped them today.”

  “He’s right,” Alex said. “That’s what we have to do when they become dangerous.”

  I was too stunned to think through it all, but I knew they were right. He was bad and had to be stopped.

  “We’d better go,” Natalie said.