Return of the Jed

by Scott Craven

  “SHUT UP, FOR GOD’S SAKE, PLEASE SHUT UP.” I flopped to the floor, curled into a ball, and put my head between my knees. I squeezed my eyes shut, blocking out everything.

  No Ooze. No mad scientist. No Luke. No Dad.

  Just me.

  Me.

  And sandpaper across my nose followed by a cold breath smelling of dog food left for days in the sun.

  “Hey, Tread,” I said, cupping his muzzle in my right palm. “You’ll always be there, won’t you, boy? No matter who I am—what I am—you’ll never leave me. After all, I made you what you are today.”

  There was nothing left to do but cry.

  That’s exactly what I did, until everything went black.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Brain: “Dude, you there? You must be, I can hear you not breathing.”

  Me: “Luke, is that you?”

  Brain: “No, this is your brain, which is doing all it can right now to not feel insulted by your case of mistaken identity.”

  Me: “What’s happening?”

  Brain: “You passed out. And in fact, are still passed out. So I thought I’d take this opportunity to say: What the heck are you thinking? Wait, I know what you’re thinking. That’s my job.”

  Me: “Is this real life?”

  Brain: “No, more of a construct of subconscious. But still very important because you have a decision to make.”

  Me: “I know. And I’m not ready. I need more time to think.”

  Brain: “That’s my job. That’s why I’d love to share with you just some of the benefits that come with being a card-carrying member of the living, breathing world. Did you know that as a non-undead person, you can save $38.72 each month on duct tape and staples, simply by not buying them?”

  Me: “I never thought about it.”

  Brain: “Actually you have. Millions of time. Remember, I do the thinking. You can’t hide it from me.”

  Me: “Good point.”

  Brain: “I know. Also, when you join the human race, living edition, you’re entitled to all the perks. Good breath. Strong bones and teeth. Limbs that remain intact when grabbed by those seeking to do you harm.”

  Me: “Go on.”

  Brain: “Then there are the many advantages of what WON’T happen simply because you’re different with a capital D. No getting shoved into lockers. No unscheduled flights into the nearest trash bin. And best yet, no burning hot glares from the spotlight you feel when walking into a new place.”

  Me: “That would be nice.”

  Brain: “Nice? That would be awesome. I could spend more time on the important stuff, like figuring out what you’re going to be when you grow up, instead of coming up with ways to get you out of your latest predicaments. Do you know just how draining this little trip to Mexico has been?”

  Me: “I realize that, and I’m sorry. But I still don’t know if I’m ready to become someone so completely different.”

  Brain: “Oh no, you’re thinking of Anna. Now you think you’re blushing. You are such a dead-head case.”

  Me: “Anna loves me for who I am. She’s in my life because of who I am. I don’t want that to change.”

  Brain: “If Anna loves you for who you are, then she will love you when your cardiovascular system finally conforms to the medical definition of life.”

  Me: “I guess. I never thought of that before.”

  Brain: “Yes. You have. Millions of times.”

  Me: “You’re right. If I do, you know, change, then it won’t be awkward at our wedding when the minister says, ‘Anna, do you take Jed until death, uh, well, let’s skip this part.’”

  Brain: “Marriage? Now I’m wondering if this is real life. Anyway, it’s been fun, but it’s time to return you to your regularly scheduled undead life.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  “Dude, you there? You must be, I can hear you not breathing.”

  “Brain, you still there?”

  “You’ve called me a lot of things, but ‘Brain’ has never been one of them.”

  Luke’s voice. I’d returned from wherever it was I’d been. IF my conversation with Brain had really happened.

  “Luke,” I muttered.

  “Live and in person,” he said. “Which is more than you can say, at least when it comes to the ‘live’ part.”

  Reality slowly returned.

  I was stretched out on the exam table, Dad and Luke floating above. My head continued to clear, just a few cobwebs left.

  “The gray is returning to your face,” Dad said. “So that’s good.”

  “What was it before?” I asked.

  Dad hesitated, so Luke cut in. “It was a little red, like, you know.”

  “Like a norm,” I said.

  “Yeah. We thought we broke a zombie. That would’ve sucked.”

  “Maybe not.”

  I tightened my stomach and sat up, and could feel what little blood I had continue to drain from my head.

  I was feeling more like my undead self. I stretched my arms overhead, flexing each at the elbow while lifting my legs, one at a time.

  Still in working order, and joints felt secure. Nothing like another truckload of fear and trepidation to keep the Ooze factory working overtime. Though there was a softness in my right hip. I probed the area with my fingers, feeling a slight mushiness.

  “Sorry about that,” Dad said. “When we lifted you onto the table, we didn’t notice Tread had locked his jaws onto your shoe. He came up with you, pulling your leg out of joint.”

  “Just part of being a zombie,” I said. As I continued to press, the Ooze tingled in the joint, doing its thing as always.

  “I didn’t know zombies could pass out when no blunt force to the head was involved,” Luke said, his brows stitched with worry. I hadn’t seen that look on him since the Buffet Rodeo announced it was discontinuing its all-you-can-eat policy.

  “I blacked out? Seriously?” That explained having absolutely no recollection of going from floor to exam table.

  “Weird,” Luke continued. “I’ve seen you lose three out of four limbs, and you’re still screaming I haven’t won until I pin you.”

  “Those are just flesh wounds. But this stuff with the new Ooze—”

  “Sub-Ooze. That’s what we’re calling it. Good for Twitter and T-shirts.”

  I put my head down again, the world swirling.

  I knew what Dr. Armendariz wanted to do, once he settled on the name for this new substance. He planned to decrease the world’s zombie population by one, resulting in extinction of the undead species (human variety).

  Even if Substance Z and Ooze mixed to do just that—create reformed zombies, allowing the once-undead to embrace real life—maybe this was one zombie who embraced his undeadness. If I were just another inflatable bag of flesh, I’d have to go to the hospital for something as minor as losing a hand. I’d have blood and all the pressure that went along with it. Days would be filled with breathing, which is so monotonous. Maybe even tiring.

  Then again, I’d be just another inflatable bag of flesh.

  Like everyone else.

  Finally.

  I assumed the Substance Z-Ooze mix would perform as Dr. Armendariz expected, so I knew I was getting ahead of myself. This was a guy convinced a silent film was evidence of vampires. If I showed him a pair of size twenty-eight sneakers, would he blog how he’d found proof of Bigfoot? If I wrapped Luke in several layers of bandages and told him to moan while walking slowly with his arms out, would Dr. Armendariz start screaming about ancient Egyptian curses?

  Just where was Dr. Armendariz? I called out his name.

  “Yes?” He popped up from the corner, where he’d been crouching over something.

  I decided to test my theory Dr. Armendariz was nothing more than a misguided crank whose medical degree had been awarded by a university in a country even Google couldn’t locate.

  “Were you ever abducted by aliens?”


  “Once,” he answered. “They were visiting from the Netherlands. They thought I’d stolen their car, so they got into my backseat and ordered me to drive to their hotel. Which I did, and then they found their vehicle. Just a misunderstanding.”

  “Not aliens from Scandinavia. Aliens from another planet.”

  “Extraterrestrials? Don’t be silly. Everyone knows there’s no such thing.”

  “Just when I thought I had you figured out.”

  “Fine, but I must get back to work. First …”

  Dr. Armendariz reached toward the metal table at the foot of the bed. Dad, Luke, and I exchanged nervous looks as his right hand roamed over several dangerously sharp things. If given a choice, none of us would allow the good doctor to possess potentially lethal instruments, let alone handle them in a medically related way.

  He settled on what appeared to be a pair of pliers, but one so shiny you could see your reflection in the sturdy handle. I breathed a sigh of relief, or thought I had since I had little experience in sighing. Perhaps I would get better if I one day had to breathe to survive.

  “Ah, perfect,” Dr. Armendariz said, returning to his crouch in the corner.

  That’s when I noticed what he crouched over.

  Only it was not a “what.” It was a “who,” and a very special one at that.

  “Dad, can you see what he’s doing?” I asked, since Dad had a much better angle.

  “Looks like he’s petting Tread and muttering something,” Dad said, peering into the corner. “I don’t think I like him around your dog with an instrument designed to pull stuff.”

  “Me neither,” I said.

  I hopped off the table, my knees buckling slightly. I stumbled to the left, and overcorrected, tripping to the right before righting myself. The light-headed feeling took some getting used to.

  “Dude, you’re walking just like a zombie,” Luke said, grabbing my elbow to steady me. “What’s gotten into you?”

  I shook my arm free and stepped over to Dr. Armendariz, still kneeling over Tread, who was stretched out on his back, tail wagging.

  The doctor smoothed his free hand along Tread’s tummy, curling his fingers for a nice belly rub. Tread loved belly rubs.

  “Can I ask you what you’re looking for?” I said. Dr. Armendariz’s rather sweet actions failed to ease my fears of a man holding a tool designed for yanking.

  “Nothing, just admiring your dog,” Dr. Armendariz said. “Very nice coat for a zombie. I thought it would be drier. Flakier.”

  There was something flakey here, and it wasn’t my dog’s fur.

  “The secret is in the conditioner,” I said, going along with him. For now. “When it says ‘Full body’ on the label, it doesn’t mean the body it’s used on has to be a person. Or even technically alive.”

  “Jed, it is remarkable how well you accept your condition,” he said.

  My spine stiffened as soon as I heard the “C” word.

  “As if it were normal to be undead. That is very commendable of you. But it doesn’t have to be that way forever.”

  The pliers moved so quickly, I could only watch what happened with no time to react. The teeth clamped on the base of Tread’s tail and twisted. A sharp snap, and the tail pulled away clean, trailing a few drops of Ooze as Dr. Armendariz held it in front of him as if admiring his butchering.

  “What did you do?” I screamed, stretching for Tread’s tail. Dr. Armendariz turned away, my body bouncing off his back. I launched myself at the doctor, the two of us going down in a heap.

  Hands gripped under my arms, and I flew a few feet off the ground. I landed on the exam table, cushioned by the padded vinyl. But it couldn’t protect my ego, now severely bruised after being thrown like a ragdoll.

  “Easy sport,” Dad said, his hand on my back offering support and restraint at the same time. “We don’t attack people, even when they do amazingly stupid things that shouldn’t be tolerated by anyone, even undead dogs.”

  I flipped on my back, pushing Dad away so I could see what had happened.

  Dr. Armendariz still held Tread’s tail, the furry appendage sagging in the pliers’ grip. Tread, who hadn’t uttered a sound when his most enjoyable body part was torn from him, sat in front of the doctor, his nose in the air sniffing his stolen tail.

  “What the heck, doc?” I said. “What are you thinking? You can’t just rip off his tail like that!”

  “Young man, relax—”

  “Relax? Here’s what I think about relaxing.”

  I shoved off the table and prepared to lunge when arms wrapped around me from behind.

  “Et tu, Luke?” I said.

  “No need to swear, Jed, it’s just you need to calm down so we can figure something out.”

  “He’s right, son,” Dad chimed in. “Let’s give the doctor time to explain before you fly off the handle.”

  “I’ll fly off whatever I want to if he hurts my dog again,” I said. Tread licked Dr. Armendariz’s tail-free hand, not helping my case.

  “Jed, I want to perform a small experiment that required the removal of your dog’s limb,” Dr. Armendariz said. “I thought the tail would be the easiest and most efficient.”

  “Why didn’t you ask?” I argued, then assumed a low-pitched doctorly voice. “‘Young man, would you mind if I de-tailed your dog to prove just how truly crazy I am because I’m an idiot who thinks vampire movies are real’?”

  “Jed,” Dad said. “Respect. Please.”

  “Dad, you saw what he did, right? Am I the only one here who thinks you can’t go wrenching off tails whenever you want to?”

  Luke released his grip and grabbed my shoulders, turning me toward him. “I’ve been your best friend how long?” he said.

  “Forever.”

  “Right. Through the best of zombie times, through the worst of zombie times.”

  “Not always through the worst of zombie times,” I said, remembering how Luke had disappeared when the NZN Network distributed its anti-undead propaganda.

  “True,” he said, dropping his hands. “But I have been through a lot of it. And there have been a lot of worst zombie times. What if there didn’t have to be any more?”

  I flashed back on my conversation with Brain. I had thought about being normal at least a million times. Now that there was a chance to be normal, I just wasn’t sure.

  I looked at Luke, then at Dad. And there it was.

  Sympathy.

  They wanted the best for me. I knew how much Dad loved me, he always reminded me. I knew he’d continue to love me no matter what happened.

  It would be so much easier on him, Mom, even Luke, if I were no longer a zombie. Life would be so much less complicated.

  This wasn’t just about me. It was about them too.

  Luke wasn’t the most perceptive kid on the planet, but he did see the battle going on in my head.

  “Let’s just see where this goes,” he said.

  “Dad?” I said.

  “Up to you, son. We can just listen to him for now. Or we can get the heck out of Dodge. Your call.”

  If I knew where all this was headed, so did they. The only difference—I wasn’t sure I wanted to see where this went.

  I sat back on the exam table. As Luke said, no harm in listening to the man.

  “Let’s keep going,” I said. Maybe Dad tried to hide it, but the faintest smile flickered on his face.

  I wasn’t sure whether it made me feel better or worse.

  Dr. Armendariz removed Tread’s tail from the pliers and placed the instrument so softly on the steel table it didn’t make a sound. He looked toward Dad.

  “Tread has removed his tail many times, yes?” he asked.

  “Many times,” Dad said. “He probably spends more time tail-free, since he loves to pull it off and bury it.”

  “And normally you would put it back with duct tape?”

  “And staples, especially if it
was around dinner time, and he’d wag his tail a lot.”

  “What if we try something different this time? Would you be able to assist me—”

  “Dad,” I interjected against my better wishes.

  “Son, please?”

  Fine. They wanted someone to be brain-dead, I could be brain-dead. I was born for it.

  Dr. Armendariz reached into his pocket, producing a small glass vial. I didn’t need to see it closely to know what it contained.

  “Here I have an amount of Substance Z so tiny, you can barely see it,” Dr. Armendariz (aka “Captain Obvious”) said. “The strength of Substance Z, and now Ooze, still amazes me. A little goes a very long way.”

  He looked at Dad. “If you would hold the tail in place, I’d like to inject this bit of Substance Z into the base. I think you will be amazed at the result.”

  “As long as you promise it won’t hurt Tread,” Dad said.

  “He won’t even feel it, trust me,” Dr. Armendariz said as I mouthed along, knowing exactly what he’d say.

  Dr. Armendariz handed Dad the tail and retrieved a syringe from the metal table. He flicked away the safety cap and plunged the needle into the vial, extracting a few drops.

  “If you please,” he said, motioning Dad to position Tread’s tail back where it belonged.

  Luke and I watched as Dad snapped Tread’s tail into place, something he’d done dozens of times before. Dr. Armendariz leaned close and inserted the needle, needing less than a second to empty its contents.

  Tread whipped his head back and licked furiously at the injection spot. Dr. Armendariz cupped Tread’s muzzle and slowly lifted the dog’s head until Tread’s gaze met his. “Good boy. You probably feel a tingling, something you’ve never sensed before, but just wait. You’re going to be a new dog when we’re done.”

  Tread returned to steadily licking as soon as Dr. Armendariz released his muzzle. “Luke, would you mind handing me the electromagnetic field generator from the table, please?”

  “The whooziz what?” Luke said.

  Anticipating my friend’s reaction, I grabbed the two tweezers connected by a coil and handed the device to Dr. Armendariz. I wasn’t sure why.