“To soften the blow, I guess. You’re about to meet them, and I thought I’d save you from the initial shock. You would have figured it out on your own in about two seconds flat once they started running their traps.”
“We all have our war stories from high school,” Becky said.
The flashlight’s beam bobbed up and down over the snow-covered ground. “I thought for people like you, high school was supposed to be your glory years?”
“People like me?” The tone of her voice told Ryan he was treading on dangerous ground.
“You were one of the popular kids, weren’t you? Probably the head cheerleader?”
“What’s your definition of popular?”
Ryan laughed. “I don’t know. Popular is getting invited to all the cool parties. Sitting with the cool kids at lunch. Hanging out on the sidelines during the football games.”
“So what if I did all of those things?” She sounded angry now. A gun and a badge aren’t going to help you now, Ryan thought, wishing he had a better way with words. “You’re saying that because I did those things that I consider myself better than you? That I didn’t have a care in the world and was immune to bad experiences because I was considered popular?”
“I didn’t mean it that way.”
“How did you mean it?”
“I didn’t mean to ruffle any feathers. You know how it is? Nerds always get picked on. School is hell. Honestly, the best day of my life was graduation day, knowing I didn’t have to deal with any of those assholes anymore.”
“I’m an asshole now?”
“No. Not you. The assholes I went to school with.”
“It’s nice to know that in your world you can just lump people together into neat little categories and predict the rest of their lives based on that.”
Ryan stopped. Becky made it a few steps farther before she realized he wasn’t walking next to her anymore. When she turned, Ryan caught her face in the light and saw fire in her eyes.
“If I offended you,” Ryan said, “then I’m sorry. School sucked. It sucks for a lot of people. And that was years ago. All I was trying to do was prepare you for meeting my friends. They aren’t pillars of the community. They were nerds in school and they’re still nerds today. And I’m not going to lie to you…I’m one of them.”
Becky’s expression softened by a degree. She stared at him for a moment before saying, “You know that you’re being ridiculous, right?”
“Okay? Sure, I think?”
“I can see why you might think I’m a stuck-up bitch,” Becky said. “I know my dad’s successful and people tend to think that since he’s rich and kind of a snob, that I’d probably be those things, too. But, honestly, have I ever acted like that?”
“No.”
“All right then. Are you happy now? You didn’t have to hurt my feelings to tell me you were insecure about me meeting your friends.”
“I’m a dick.”
“You kind of are.”
“I’ll make it up to you.”
“You better.”
“I guess some of that stuff sticks with you whether you know it or not.”
Becky nodded and they started to walk again. Not far ahead, they heard the sound of voices and Becky said, “I hope your friends like me.”
An hour later, Ryan was nursing his first beer. Becky was on her second. After Ryan had introduced her to everyone, she hadn’t hesitated in accepting when Fred offered her a Bud Light. Any trepidation Ryan had felt earlier was gone now; Becky seemed to fit right in. Former popular girl or not, he discovered she could nerd out with the best of them. She seemed to come into her own when the discussion turned to making jokes at Ryan’s expense.
“I remember when he first started,” Fred said. “Got out of the academy and would flash his badge any chance he could get. Even when he was off duty, he’d wear it clipped to his belt, and his shirt would cover it up. ‘S’cuse me ladies, let me get that for you,’ and he’d stretch or reach up so that his shirt came up enough so you could catch a glimpse of it.”
“Was it that obvious?” Ryan asked.
“And then some,” Kevin said.
“Don’t let him fool you,” Fred said. “He may carry a gun and talk tough, but he’s a softy.”
Kevin said, “Go on, tell her.”
Ryan shook his head. “C’mon, don’t.”
Fred gave Ryan a shit-eating grin and then looked at Becky. “You know what the other deputies call him? Care Bear with a dick.”
“At least my nickname isn’t Squatch.”
Becky looked puzzled. “Why do they call you that?”
“It’s short for Sasquatch. Because he’s so damn hairy,” Kevin said. “Even with his shirt off, he looks like he’s wearing a sweater. We think he’s half Neanderthal. We’re waiting for the DNA results to come back.”
Fred took a gulp of his beer and shook his head. “And my cock is Sasquatch-size, too.” He stood up and began unzipping his pants.
“Don’t you dare!” Rhonda said, scooting away.
“I think I’ll take your word for it,” Becky said.
Ryan leaned over and whispered in Becky’s ear. “Brain’s the size of a monkey’s, too.”
Kevin said, “Are we done roasting each other now?”
Fred zipped and buttoned his pants and sat back down. “We haven’t even gotten to you yet.” He directed his attention at Becky. “Now this guy – gets a degree in biology and what does he do? He moves back home and opens a comic book store. Mind tellin’ us why someone would go and do that, Kev?”
“I saw an opening in the market,” Kevin said nervously.
Fred finished off his beer and cracked open another one. “Huh uh, nope, not buying it. Don’t be shy. We’re all friends here.”
“Lay off of him,” Ryan said. “We’ve all heard this story.”
“A girl! Can you believe that shit? Chases a girl halfway across the country. And it’s Angela Brekemeyer of all people!” Fred seemed to realize that Becky, who had spent the majority of her childhood in Des Moines, wouldn’t know who that was. “She was the biggest slut in our school. How many guys on the football team did she bang? Wait, don’t answer. All of them. So then she graduates, moves to Colorado, which just happens to be where Kev-bo here was going to college too.”
“Maybe she changed when she got out of high school,” Rhonda said, feeling more than a little sympathetic for Kevin, who looked miserable as Fred told them the story.
“That would have been romantic,” Fred said. “A true love story. But that wasn’t how it was. See, Kev didn’t hook up with her right away. Wasn’t until senior year, and by that time he was probably the only one left that Angela hadn’t banged. So when Kev’s turn came around, what does he do? He falls head over heels for her. Right out of college, he lands a job in Denver at some lab, but Angela says she’s homesick and wants to move back to Trudy. Anybody else, they would have said ‘peace out’ and went on with their life. Instead, he decides not to take the job and follows her back here.”
“Had to go see about a girl,” Kevin said. “Good Will Hunting-style.”
“How long was it before she dumped you for Brian Green?”
In the space of three minutes, Kevin’s mind had time traveled back seven years, and he could see Angela standing there in their roach-infested little trailer, biting her lip and laying it all out in that matter-of-fact way of hers. Maybe she should have been the scientist; God knew she had a kind of clinical detachment about her. Love – at least Angela’s twisted version of it – could be controlled by a simple on/off switch. One day she had loved him, one day she hadn’t. Easy as pie. And she had given him the whole spiel about how it was her not him, and how it had just sort of happened. How she had ran into Jock Brian (former half-back for the Trudy High School football team), and how right away something had stirred inside of her; knew right then that she still had feelings for him. I was just as surprised as you, she had said. Then she had used the word soulmate, and Kevin hadn’t
been able to decide if he wanted to vomit or clock her in the face. “Two months,” he said.
“Two months. Who knows how long she’d been screwing the guy behind Kev’s back. But here’s the worst part: Kev helped her move into Brian’s place!”
“It sounds to me like Kevin was an adult about it,” Becky said. “Clearly, that girl had issues.” And to Kevin, she added, “I’m sure you’re better off.”
“She married the guy a month later,” Fred said. “They’ve got two kids together. He’s never gotten over it. Have you, Kev?”
Kevin remained silent.
Up to that point, Derek had managed to contain his excitement and be on his best behavior. As difficult as it had been to keep quiet, he took Kevin’s threat of immediate expulsion from the meeting very seriously, so he had focused on watching and listening, hoping to be invited back. After hearing Fred tell Kevin’s story of love gone wrong, he couldn’t help saying something. “You’re wrong,” he blurted out. “He’s over it, and he’s been over it. I know that because…”
Oh shit, Kevin thought, planting his face in his hands, and I thought it couldn’t get any worse.
“…he’s got a thing for Rhonda.”
Through his hands, Kevin said, “Please, Derek just…don’t help.”
Derek appeared crushed, his loyalty rejected. Rhonda blushed, but didn’t make any attempt to set the record straight. It was a sad and common story. It was hard for her to picture Kevin in that light; as some love struck puppy. He had never struck her as needy or co-dependent, but as decisive and authoritative. Maybe that’s only because he’s your boss, she thought.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Ryan said. “Group roast’s over. Let’s get to it. Romero zombies versus O’Bannon zombies. Differences.”
“Romero’s zombies eat flesh,” Fred said. “O’Bannon’s eat brains.”
Kevin said, “Romero’s are infected through bite. In O’Bannon’s ROTLD, zombification is induced by Trioxin.”
“Technically,” Rhonda said, “in NOTLD, they didn’t specify the exact reason. The recently diseased returned as the undead by re-animation of the brain, no bite required.”
“Good point.”
Ryan’s radio squawked and he turned the volume down. “Some of O’Bannon’s zombies can talk.”
“Bub could talk in Day of the Dead,” Fred said.
“Yeah, but that was through training, so it doesn’t necessarily count.”
“O’Bannon zombies were smarter. And faster too. Unless you take Land of the Dead into account – some of those zombies were smart.”
Becky looked thoroughly bewildered. Ryan said, “Catching all this?”
“I’m completely lost. We’re talking about zombies?”
“Yep.”
“So you guys come out here to talk about monsters?”
“Actually,” Fred said, “it’s usually about zombies. Tonight, specifically, we’re discussing the major differences between zombies in George Romero’s Dead films and Dan O’Bannon’s Living Dead series.”
“It’s kind of like a messed up version of Ebert & Roeper if all they did was talk about zombie movies,” Rhonda said.
Ryan saw that Becky was still confused. “This is what I was talking about when I told you to lower your expectations.”
Derek appeared eager, fidgeting with his sword cane and looking like he was anxious to say something. “If you have to pee,” Rhonda said, “you can go behind a tree.”
“It’s not that. You guys haven’t mentioned the biggest difference of all,” Derek said.
“Enlighten us,” Kevin said.
“How to kill them.” He looked around, noticeably pleased with himself, as if that simple statement had earned him a permanent place in the group. “With Romero’s zombies, you have to destroy the brain. In ROTLD, you had to incinerate them.”
“But that’s a catch-22,” Kevin said. “Don’t forget that burning them caused Trioxin-laced smoke, which brought that acid rain shit, which also brought the dead back to life.”
“Okay. Electrocution then. That worked in ROTLD 2, and I’m not counting Necropolis or Rave to the Grave because those two sucked ass.”
The others nodded in solemn agreement. “Brought disgrace to the series,” Fred said.
“Good job, Derek,” Rhonda said, socking him a soft one in the shoulder.
Becky knew she was out of her depth, but found the discussion amusing. “You guys are really knowledgeable about zombies.”
“It’s very useful in everyday life,” Kevin said.
“How so?” Becky asked.
“He’s full of shit,” Fred said.
“Says the douche who deals with shit for a living.”
“Shit pays the bills. What’s payin’ yours?”
“Business is picking up,” Kevin said.
Fred polished off his beer. Now that Becky was feeling slightly tipsy, she realized that Fred reminded her of Jack Black if instead of doing movies he had spent the last decade living in an isolated cabin somewhere.
“Now there’s a load of shit,” Fred said.
“What happened with the movie you wanted to make?” Kevin asked Fred, knowing it was a sore point. “What was it called? Pizza Boy or something.”
“Pizza Delivery Man,” Fred said.
“Yeah, that was it. I knew it was something really original like that.”
Ryan turned to Becky and said, “Fred was going to be the next great filmmaker. He had this idea about a homicidal pizza delivery guy that went around murdering people.”
“Whatever happened to that?” Kevin said.
“It never took off,” Fred said, embarrassed. “I would have cut off my left hand to make that movie.”
“At least you guys would know what to do,” Becky said, “if zombies ever attacked.”
“Yeah,” Fred said. “Get out of town.”
“I’d stay and fight,” Derek said.
Becky looked at Ryan and said, “And what would you do?”
Ryan shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know if anybody really knows what they’d do until it came right down to it. I guess I’d do whatever was necessary to survive.” He couldn’t tell how Becky felt about that answer. It might not have sounded heroic, but at least it was honest. He checked his watch. “It’s getting late.”
“You’re gonna bail?” Fred asked.
“It’s after midnight. Shift starts in six hours.”
“Goin’ soft.”
“Maybe, but I know one thing: if zombies did attack, I’d be glad I got my beauty sleep the night before.”
Ryan stood and helped Becky up. Her legs felt stiff from the cold. “It was nice meeting all of you,” she said.
“Don’t be a stranger,” Kevin said.
“Make her watch the films,” Fred said. “So she can join in the fun next time. Forewarned is forearmed.”
“I’ll make sure he does,” Becky said.
They said their goodbyes. Ryan and Becky were halfway across the cemetery when they heard Fred shout, “They’re coming to get you, Barbra!”
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“Now you know my dirty little secret.”
“I don’t know what you were worried about. You’re friends are really nice. And funny.”
Ryan smiled. “Funny haha or funny cuckoo?”
“They’re definitely characters.”
“Wow,” Ryan said. “I’m going to tell them you said that.”
“You know what I mean.”
Ryan said, “They sure liked you. I think you scored yourself a permanent invite.”
Ryan turned onto Becky’s street and pulled up to the curb in front of the 4-plex that Becky’s father owned.
“I’ll understand if you don’t want to go out with me anymore,” Ryan said. “Seeing as how I’m a big nerd.”
Becky leaned across the seat and kissed him. “Yeah,” she said, “but you’re my nerd.”
Chapter 7
; Darcy Olson made her nightly rounds. She couldn’t put off checking on her latest patient any longer. The man had been brought in twelve hours earlier screaming like a banshee and clawing at his face. The doctors hadn’t been able to figure out what was wrong with him, but their best guess was some type of severe allergic reaction to an unknown chemical agent. Susie, an RN on the swing shift, had told her the paramedics that had brought the man in had been talking about a crashed space shuttle, but she was certain that Susie had gotten her facts wrong. Probably a plane crash. Susie was a gossip and had been known to stretch the truth on more than one occasion. As if real life isn’t gruesome enough, Darcy thought.
Darcy paused at the door before entering the room, her white sneakers squeaking on the tiled floor. The man (she knew he was a firefighter because he had been in uniform when he had been brought in) was heavily sedated and appeared to be sleeping now. His face was a jigsaw puzzle of scratches and gashes. How does a person do that to themselves, she wondered.
She had been at Trudy Memorial for a little over nine years, starting off as a CNA, and had worked graveyards while she went to school during the day, until she had finally been certified as an RN. She had enough seniority that she could have snagged a day shift by now, but after working nights for so long, she discovered there was something she liked about it; knowing she was wide awake during the wee hours when the rest of the world was sound asleep. And, besides, all the crazy shit happened during the night shift.
She picked up the clipboard from the front of the hospital bed. Hamill, Rory. Diagnosis: anaphylactic shock.
My ass, Darcy thought. Shortness of breath, sharp drop in blood pressure, swelling – the man had all the symptoms, but she had never seen an allergic reaction like this. The man’s face was riddled with pustules, some of them had split open and were oozing pus. Darcy could see a network of veins pulsing beneath the skin of the man’s swollen face. The tips of his fingers were black as if he was suffering from severe frostbite; they would have to be amputated for sure.
Can kiss his job goodbye, she thought and immediately felt guilty for thinking it.
She walked around to the side of the bed. She began to take his vitals, pulling on latex gloves after noticing the skin of the man’s arm was full of the same burst pustules that plagued his face. If Darcy had had her way, she would have notified the CDC first thing. In fact, she had recommended exactly that to Dr. Kirkman, but the old duck had shaken his head and said, “Let’s not jump the gun prematurely, Nurse Olson.”
The Z Club Page 4
