The Rising Dead

by Devan Sagliani

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Gemma sprawled out across her bed with her laptop surfing Facebook updates from her long list of friends. It had gotten out of control in the last year, with people she barely knew friend requesting her. She felt guilty if she didn't accept them. People got so touchy about Facebook. Last semester a girl in her dorm, Angela, had gotten into a fist fight at a bar off campus over being accidentally “de-friended” by her friend Heather. It was so stupid. Most of the time her feed was just filled with useless info--mind candy like pictures of kids partying, or relationship updates. There were endless pictures of girls doing 'duck face' holding up their phones to the mirror, lips puckered out, and snapping pictures of themselves in their underwear. Guys did it too, but they copied Jersey Shore instead, pulling up their shirts to show off their abs and sticking out their tongues. She had to admit that a few of these guys were pretty cute, like Parker, but most of them looked fucking ridiculous.

  “Friend request denied,” she said, clicking through several attempts by awkward freshman guys to add her as a contact. She knew this was a big waste of time, but the truth was it was crazy addictive. If she could have back the hours she spent scrolling through the site, she could probably add a month to her life. Even if she didn't do “duck face,” she was just as guilty as the rest of them of posting stupid pictures from her smartphone and the even stupider updates. She'd even signed up on Instagram and begun altering her smartphone photos just to fit in.

  Does anyone really care what you ate for lunch? she wondered. And why post pictures of it?

  The worst part was that she often put a deliberate slant on what she posted, knowing that her friends would be seeing her updates. It was like keeping a journal but knowing the whole time that someone was going to read it one day.

  One day I will post an uncensored blog, she thought. I would probably lose every friend I have if I started telling them what I really thought and felt all the time.

  Heading to Slaughterhouse with the girls for one last wild summer night, she typed into her profile. C U there. Kiss face.

  She reminded herself to sign out of her profile before closing the browser. Freshman year she'd forgotten to log off and her roommate had posted a bunch of coming-out-of-the-closet updates using Gemma's profile. She was mortified until she learned that it made guys like her more, and she got a few enticing offers from girls she would never have dreamed were bi-curious.

  “You think there's going to be any cute guys at this party, or will it just be the same old busted frat boys we've seen the last three years?”

  Gemma closed the laptop and turned to see Candy putting on lip gloss in the mirror. She had on a tube top that showed too much of her bra, and skin tight ripped jeans shorts with cowboy boots.

  Could she be more obvious? Gemma thought. It bothered her that Candy was so desperate for attention that she resorted to using her body to get it from guys, that she had such a low self-image. People had accused Gemma of being many things over the years--overly social, flirty, even unable to make up her mind--but no one ever accused her of being promiscuous.

  Say what you will about me, thought Gemma, but at least guys don't target me for being easy.

  “You mean the ones you've all hooked up with at some point in a drunken stupor and now feel embarrassed to bump into?” Gemma smirked.

  “Yeah,” Candy said, either ignoring the sarcasm or missing it all together. “That's what I meant. Totally. Fuck off. Don't be a jealous snatch.”

  “Moi? Jealous? Not a chance,” Gemma said shaking her head. She waved her hands for emphasis. “Anyway, it's not like they are advertising the party on the Strip. Why can't you just pick one that was a good lay and be done with it? I wanna leave in the next five minutes. We've been get ready forever.”

  “Fine, I'm going,” Candy said, sounding miffed about being rushed. She twirled from the full length mirror and sauntered over to the closet, bending down and digging around. “Oh, what about these . . .”

  “Boots?” Gemma said, cutting her off mid-sentence. She always knew exactly what Candy was going to go for first, and it was generally the most expensive thing she owned. Candy had been this way ever since they'd met. It didn't matter how many times you pointed it out to her. By nature, she seemed impervious to shame or guilt. Gemma didn't care. She loved her anyway, warts and all, as the expression went--not that she thought Candy had warts, mind you. They'd chosen to room together second year after sharing a psych class and have been inseparable ever since. That didn't mean she didn't get on her nerves. Tonight she was being especially trying.

  “Be my guest,” Gemma replied. “Just hurry the hell up, slowpoke.”

  “Stop rushing me,” Candy said, slipping the boots on. “I wanna look good when I get there.”

  “Yeah,” Gemma said, rolling her eyes. “You wouldn't want to have to pay for any of your own drinks tonight would you?” Or drugs, she thought to herself. Gemma knew that Candy had been experimenting with the hard stuff lately. She blamed it on her taking easy courses and paying freshman to do most of her homework. The girl just had too much spare time.

  “And the money I've saved,” Candy said, sounding like a bad television commercial. “I've got enough left over for an all-expense paid vacation to Hawaii!”

  “Shut your face!” Gemma hit her with a pillow from the bed. They both laughed. “You better be taking me on that trip with you, especially after all the late night fast food I've bought you slut!”

  “I wouldn't dream of going without my bestie!”

  Just then, Jennifer, one of the girls from down the hall, knocked as she stepped into the room.

  “Can I come in?” she asked.

  “Mi casa es su casa,” Gemma said.

  “I'm sorry, I didn't take Spanish,” Jennifer replied.

  “It means yes?” Candy laughed at her. Jennifer shot her a look, then turned back to Gemma.

  “No more stalling Candy lets go,” said Gemma. “It's a ten minute walk in those boots to Slaughterhouse, easy.”

  Jennifer looked sheepishly from Candy to Gemma. She opened her mouth to speak, then thought better of it and closed it again. Gemma frowned. Candy had been bullying Jennifer ever since they met. Gemma felt sorry for her. She was too shy to stand up for herself. Underneath it all she was a good girl who just had a hard time making friends. It was how Gemma felt most of high school, that is until her breasts came in and her acne cleared up. Things changed quickly after that. You can't go from being flat as a board to a full C cup without boys noticing, and girls.

  “You still picking up my girl Poppy?”

  “Yeah,” said Jennifer. “They were supposed to be back early this afternoon, but I never heard anything.”

  “I wish I lived off campus, but I can't afford it,” said Candy.

  “You'd probably be pregnant if you lived off campus,” Gemma informed her. “Think about it. We're the only thing keeping your good reputation intact.”

  “Who sleeps with Dirty Vegas locals? Gross. Besides, living on campus never stopped you.”

  “You are so funny,” said Gemma flatly. “I'm like the last person anyone would accuse of sleeping around. Shit girl I haven't had me some good lovin' in so long I'm starting to feel almost as desperate as you.”

  Candy made a face at her and Gemma smiled. She really was her best friend in the world.

  “She'd kill me if I didn't show up,” said Jennifer ignoring their exclusionary banter, “but I'm not looking forward to making the drive out to Summerlin. I can tell you that.”

  The sound of loud girls coming down the hallway interrupted her. They were laughing and shouting to each other. It seemed to creep up on the girls then overtake them as the door swung open and several drunk college girls poured in along with two cute guys.

  “What the hell?” Gemma asked.

  “Surprise,” the lead girl yelled, holding up a bottle of tequila. She had short blonde, spiky hair and big hoop earrings. Her right arm was obscured by thick jangly
bracelets. She had a small pink top and a short black skirt with pointy matching shoes.

  “Erin!” Gemma squealed. “What is going on?”

  “We decided to come visit you,” Erin laughed. “I brought the whole gang, plus these two cute guys we picked up at the liquor store. They keep trying to tell us their names, but we won't let them!”

  All the girls squealed with laughter and the guys just smiled and exchanged looks, playing it cool.

  “We were just getting ready to head over to Slaughterhouse,” Gemma explained. “Are you coming or not?”

  “Yes,” Erin said. “Totally. Let's do some shots first.”

  The brunette behind Erin held up a little white baggie full of cocaine and smiled.

  “And nose candy,” she added. Candy's eyes grew wide with excitement.

  “Now that's what I call room service,” Candy said walking towards her new friend.

  “One drink,” Gemma said. “And then we're walking over there. I don't want to miss the biggest party of the year because we're wasted in our dorm room.”

  “Relax,” Erin replied. “We've got everything you need right here to have a very good night, if you know what I mean.”

  Gemma laughed. Jennifer smiled at them, but it felt forced. She turned and walked out of the dorms without another word.

  Why can't I ever feel like I belong anywhere? It's not like anyone is making you leave, she thought. The pressure just built up in her until she thought she would explode, leaving her no choice but to flee. She blamed her mom, the way she dealt with problems - or didn't deal with them.

  Jennifer walked swiftly out to the car, making sure Gemma wasn't following her. She didn't want anyone to see her crying again. She found her car, unlocked the doors, and slid behind the wheel.

  “I'm so stupid!”

  Driving over to Poppy's house off campus, Jennifer kept putting herself down with a steady stream of insults, most of them too personal for anyone else to even know. It was a bad habit she'd picked up in high school and never been able to kick. Once she started in on herself it was almost impossible for her to stop.

  “This is why you'll never have a boyfriend,” she said, trying to make the words as harsh and biting as she could. “Who would want to date a total basket case?”

  She pulled onto Poppy's block and saw Donovan's car in the driveway.

  Great, she thought, they've been home for hours, sleeping and making out no doubt. It was just one more unnecessary reminder to her of how she was still single. She couldn't even manage to pull off a proper one night stand.

  Maybe that's why I hate Candy so much, she thought. She's just too good at being the slutty good time girl.

  She blocked him in and checked her lip gloss one last time. It was still early as far as parties went, but she wanted to make sure she'd have plenty of time to get cleaned up after her little self loathing binge.

  She went up to the front door and rang the bell. From somewhere inside the house she heard a low growl, but no one came to answer. After a minute she let herself in and shut the door behind her.

  “Poppy,” she called out as she walked through the dark living room and down an even darker hallway. “Did you guys get a puppy? What was that sound?”

  A cold chill settled over her. Something was definitely wrong but she couldn't put her finger on it. She heard a scraping sound coming from the room at the end of the hallway on the right--Poppy's room. Her heart skipped a beat. Maybe Poppy was hurt? Maybe that was why she wasn't answering her phone. Jennifer used all the willpower she possessed to force herself the rest of the way down the hallway. The scraping noise grew louder the closer she got. She called out one last time.

  “Poppy, this isn't funny,” she said, her voice sounding more shaky than angry. “I'm coming in whether you’re ready or not.”

  Jennifer reached out her hand and pushed the door open. The glow from the computer monitor filled the room with an eerie blue light. She looked down to see that Poppy's cat had been the one clawing the door. The room was empty. Relief flooded her. She was just being paranoid.

  “Tigger,” she said, leaning down to pet the cat as it shot between her legs and raced away with a hiss. Jennifer stood up and looked around. The room was covered in dark streaks that led from the bed to the door. They reminded her of motor oil. She thought she heard someone breathing behind her and the cold fear washed back over her like a bucket of ice water. She spun around to see Poppy and Donovan leering at her like a piece of fresh meat, their mouths wide open. A rotten smell, like a dead animal, came out of them and blood-tinged tears stained their ghoulish faces. Jennifer only had time for one high pitched scream as they lunged at her, knocking her to the floor and ripping through her flesh with their gnarled teeth. It was over before she knew what had happened. Poppy and Donovan tore chunks from her chest, piercing her lungs, then her throat, before moving on to her arms and legs as they feasted on her warm, living flesh like starving cannibals enjoying a final meal.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The party had been going for almost two hours while Travis had refused to get out of the truck. Instead, he sat sulking and reading once he realized that Gemma wasn't there. By contrast, Holt seemed the life of the party, running around, screaming out obscenities at the top of his lungs, and demanding everyone do shots with him.

  “I am the God of fuck!” Holt shouted while several young girls pointed at him and laughed. Holt didn't seem to notice. Considering the state he was in, it didn't matter much if they were laughing at him or with him. All that mattered was that he was getting the party started.

  This is the last real party of summer, he thought. I’m not stopping until I can’t remember any of it.

  Holt had been to a couple shindigs at Thunderdome, but hadn't stayed long. He just thought that the people who lived there were low rent and sketchy. Parker had told him a million times that he had a one in a million chance of seeing a cop there, that the place was a lawless free for all zone. Maybe he thought that would calm Holt down. It didn't. He preferred to get wasted in surroundings he understood, in a place cops might actually show up if there was an emergency.

  The Slaughterhouse was just that, an old, run down meat packing plant within walking distance of the UNLV dorms. Those who had come before him had taken painstaking care to clean it out and decorate it with beds, couches, stripper poles, and all sorts of other creature comforts the modern day deviant would need to get his or her freak on. There was a jar on the right when you entered, to put your keys in, and one of the left full of condoms from Planned Parenthood. Someone “borrowed” a Jägermeister machine and around it a makeshift bar station had grown. The staircase was lined with used panties left by previous guests as trophies. It had the permanent stench of sweet, stale beer about it.

  Parker went back and forth between the beer cooler they'd set up out back and the truck out front, checking in on Travis. A couple of very cute new girls followed nearby, keeping an eye on Parker but not daring to approach him. They covered their mouths and giggled as he walked past one more time and then said hello, devolving into incomprehensible giggles.

  “You ready to come out and join the party?” Parker asked for what felt like the millionth time.

  “I'm fine,” Travis said, pouring over Being and Nothingness with renewed interest.

  Parker slammed his beer. He needed something to get his mind off things. It had been a very strange day. He couldn't seem to shake the image of Max's exposed breasts, or the anger in her eyes when she cursed him out. Maybe he should have just left Travis home. He thought of that old saying his dad used to repeat when he was just a kid.

  Anything that can go wrong, does. It's Murphy's Law son.

  “I'm going for another beer,” Parker said. “You can sulk in the truck all night for all I care. Sometimes I don't know why I bother with you.”

  He turned and stalked off, chucking his empty container into the tall weeds. He was half way toward the bar when someone on the other side of
the room caught his attention--Max. He felt a cool rush of surprise pump through him, followed by excitement, like spiders crawling around his insides.

  She showed up after all, he thought. Maybe now I’ll get a chance to turn things around from what happened earlier. After all, she’s on my turf now.

  This was just what he needed--his turf! He was going to show Max just how cool he was, once and for all. There was no way she could show up to a party he was hosting with his friends and disrespect him. He'd take her on a tour of the Slaughterhouse like only a member could, and if he was lucky they'd end up making out at the end of the night in one of the spare rooms.

  One thing at a time dude, he told himself. First you have to win her over.

  He turned without further thought and marched towards her direction. She was sitting with a girl sporting a pink Mohawk, laughing and pointing at people as they passed by. They stopped in surprised amusement when he walked up to them. They'd obviously been singling out people to ridicule and Parker more than fit the bill.

  “Hey,” said Parker lamely.

  “Perfect,” Max said, barely able to contain herself. “Target acquired.”

  “Set lasers to stun?” Her friend turned and waited for a reply. Max shook her head and sneered.

  “Shoot to kill,” she said.

  “Ouch,” her friend replied. “Too bad. He's cute, for his type.”

  “I'll take that as a compliment,” Parker said, looking for a way into their conversation. He wasn't used to feeling this vulnerable around a girl. He didn't like it. Why was she making everything so difficult? Most girls were happy if he just paid attention to them, no matter what they talked about. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder and saw Holt giving him the thumbs up. That made him feel better. His buddy would definitely have his back.