The Loving Dead

by Amelia Beamer

  He debated what to do. If his friends had all turned into zombies, he should go get help.

  There was the sound of footsteps. The entry hallway was empty, and so was what he could see of the living room and kitchen. Michael stepped outside and shut the door, leaning against it. Containment was the most important thing with zombies. He should check that all of the windows and doors were shut. Yeah, because zombies never broke windows.

  A scream came from inside. Definitely human, and a girl’s. That meant someone was still in danger. Michael’s knees grew weak. He understood what he had to do. He opened the door, went inside, and searched for the nearest weapon. There was an umbrella jar in the hallway. He took out an umbrella, and held it in front of him.

  “Hello?” he called.

  A zombie turned the corner from the hallway. Cameron. His skin was gray, and his mouth and cheeks were dark with blood. Fresh blood. He wore a grin, as if this was the funniest joke ever.

  “Dude,” Michael said. He took a step back. “Dude?” He poked Cameron with his umbrella, intending to stab him.

  Cameron batted aside the umbrella. He looked Michael up and down.

  Michael backed up slowly into the kitchen, aware that walking backwards was a sure way to get brained. Maybe he deserved to be eaten by this zombie, he thought. Maybe this was all his fault.

  Cameron raised his arms and followed. He moved slowly, as if he enjoyed the chase. Michael tripped over something—a kitchen chair, he saw as he fell—and landed on his ass, bashing one elbow. His back tensed from the impact. His elbow had to be broken. “Cameron, please,” he said. He crawled backwards, desperate. Cameron leaned down and put a hand on Michael’s leg, and Michael felt his bladder let go.

  There was the crack of a whip from the living room.

  “Cammy!” a female voice called. “That’s enough, now.”

  Cameron dropped his hands to his sides. He wore a look of doggish disappointment.

  Michael was astonished. He was afraid to say anything, afraid to even move. The part of his mind that liked to make irreverent comments told him that he was lucky that he hadn’t shit himself. Yet.

  “That’s a good boy, Cammy.” Michael recognized the voice as Audrey’s. “Now go sit down,” she said.

  Cameron went to sit on the chair Michael had tripped over. It was lying on its back, legs sticking up like a dead insect.

  “Wait, hon,” Audrey said. She leaned over and righted the chair. “Now go ahead.”

  The zombie sat. The muscles under the skin of his face moved like stoned rats under a blanket, until his features formed a smile. He rested his face in his hand, his elbow propped on the table in the gesture used by tired children and people who suffer from unrequited love. He picked up a half-full glass from the table and drank. Last night’s whiskey and soda spilled from his mouth, but he swallowed most of it.

  Michael found his voice. “What’s going on? Audrey?”

  She smiled down at him, and it was a smile not unlike the zombie’s—it seemed to take effort, and had an artificial feel to it. “Fuck you,” she said. “I cleaned up your mess.” She took in the state of Michael’s pants. “Well, most of your mess,” she added.

  Michael didn’t know where to start. “Where’s Natalie and Henry?” he said. He cradled his elbow, which still throbbed, but less so than before. Probably it wasn’t broken. Probably he’d just landed on his funny bone.

  “They left. Went home. This morning. I told them it was all a big joke last night.”

  “They believed you?”

  Audrey shrugged. “They were all hung over. And I told them I’d been in on it, and now I had to clean up.”

  “So of course they left, before you could ask them to help clean.” Michael understood. “But why’d you try to clear them out in the first place?” It didn’t make sense that she’d say that. Or that they believed she’d offered to help clean. But they had all been really messed up last night, not thinking straight. Had they really been watching zombie movies?

  “You have to admit it was more entertaining than the average party. Even your average party.” Audrey said. “And you know as well as I do most of our friends are useless in an emergency. I had to get them out for their own safety.” She squatted down on the floor in front of Michael, still holding the whip in her hand.

  “I was awake when you and Kate left, this morning. After everyone left, I went to check on Cameron here. I was thinking about how, last night, when I switched my whip, how he listened. And he looked so sad there, tied up. He recognized me. So after everyone woke up, and I cleared them out, I untied him. I had to. Also I found this in your bathroom in the hallway.”

  She stood and retrieved something from the counter, and Michael realized that both he and Cameron were watching her ass. She dropped a book on Michael, and he caught it. It was his battered copy of Passage of Darkness: The Ethnobiology of the Haitian Zombie, by Wade Davis. He’d ordered it online, used, and it had arrived signed by the author, mysteriously inscribed to Kelly, with best wishes. Davis had handwriting like a high school girl.

  “This seemed like the most useful of your reference material. Zombies respond to whips,” she said. “Presuming that our friend here is actually a zombie. So I looked up whips in the index, and it turns out that they’re used in Haiti to, like, call spirits and shit.”

  “Haitian zombies are more about punishment for people who’ve broken the laws,” Michael said. “The process involves poisoning them so that they appear to be dead, taking the spirit or ti bon ange, and then resurrecting the body and making it work the fields.” Michael became aware that he was slipping into lecture mode. The wet spot in his pants was starting to cool. He was still sitting on his kitchen floor. His head spun. “What about that belly dancer zombie, Kate’s friend? Where’s she at?”

  “Still tied up, I think. Cameron’s kind of got the hots for her,” she turned to address the zombie, “which is awfully rude if you ask me, trying to get with another girl right in front of your girlfriend.”

  “You guys are back together?”

  “Sort of,” Audrey said. “You have to admit, he listens better now than he ever did.” She cracked her whip. “Cameron, go wash your face,” she said.

  The zombie stood, obediently went to the sink, and fumbled the handle until water came out. He leaned down towards the tap, bonking his chin on the spout.

  “Ketchup,” Audrey explained, standing up to help Cameron. The bottle was still on the kitchen table, the top coated with dried ketchup crud. “Zombie, you’re getting it everywhere. And this water is cold.” She fussed over him, splashing his face.

  “Water,” Cameron croaked. His voice sent chills through Michael. That was Helen Keller’s first word.

  Michael realized Audrey had probably said baby, not zombie. He stood up, still shaky. His clothes were in his room, down the hall. He wanted dry pants. “Ketchup?” he asked.

  Audrey brushed Cameron’s wet hair from his face. He smiled at her, water running over his bitten lip.

  “You said we were going to take them to the hospital,” she said. Her voice was quiet and even, like she’d rehearsed this. “But we didn’t. And now look what’s happened to him. I know we were all fucked up, but still. You’re the most responsible, even drunk and stoned. It was your party.”

  Michael took a step back, understanding. Something moved in his bowels, and he tightened his sphincter against it. “You did this to get back at me?”

  “Did it work? I was a little bummed that Kate wasn’t with you when you came back, so she could be part of it, too. You’ve got a thing for her, don’t you?” Audrey dried her hands on her tight skirt. Her skin was pale against the black leather. Her nails were bitten short; all of her fake nails had broken off. She gestured towards Cameron. “I wanted to get back at you. At someone.” She turned to the tap and put one hand in the water, then brought it to her face. Michael saw then that she was crying.

  “And now we’re even,” she said. “Except
you still have to help me get him fixed.”

  Cameron lowered his head towards Audrey’s shoulder, as if to kiss her. Less than twelve hours ago, the gesture would have been romantic. She stepped back, and switched her whip. “Wash your hands, baby,” she told him. He obeyed, putting his hands under the tap and halfheartedly clapping them.

  “Excuse me. I’ll be right back,” Michael said. He very much wanted a shower and a shave, but there wasn’t time. He found that his bathroom was strangely lacking any evidence that the previous night’s scene had happened. Except for the bloody towel, and a length of rope still tied to the shower door. They should have used the handcuffs Cameron had brought. But then again, who knew how easily they’d come apart.

  He kicked off his sodden pants and boxers, then emptied his bowels into the toilet. He washed his hands, used a clean towel on his legs, applied deodorant, and put on fresh clothes. He moved quickly. He thought about calling Henry and asking him to come back and help deal with the zombies, but he didn’t want to endanger anyone else. Plus, Audrey would brag about how she made him piss himself.

  He found Audrey sitting at the kitchen table reading the book about Haitian zombies, the whip on the table. Cameron sat nearby, watching her. She pursed her lips while she read, mouthing the words. She didn’t look up when Michael entered the room. He thought about going to the liquor cabinet and pouring a drink. Just one, for his nerves, but maybe that wasn’t a good idea.

  “Hey,” Michael said. “Audrey?” He wondered if he should go give her a hug, or something. There was a new distance between them. It felt a little like after they’d first broken up, not that they’d been together for very long. Audrey wasn’t as good in bed as she thought she was, and she tended to be the one who initiated her break-ups.

  “How do you want to do this?” Audrey asked. “Do you think we should go to Kaiser, or Alta Bates? Cameron’s got no insurance. He was waiting until his ninety days at TJ’s, when it kicked in. We were going to go to this indoor skydiving place once we both had insurance. You know, just in case. Do you know if Kate’s friend has any insurance?”

  “No, I don’t know,” Michael said. “I could check her purse, but I doubt it. I’m not sure she even had a purse. Hey, but maybe this is weird enough that the hospital won’t charge for treatment. All of the residents could publish papers on it.”

  “And it’ll turn into an episode of House, with wackier and wackier theories and tests until he looks like he’s at death’s door,” Audrey said. “Just as long as they figure it out in time, and cure him. He’s not really dead. Not like movie zombies.” She looked up from her book, and smiled. “It says here that if a zombie is fed salt, he remembers who he is.”

  Michael grabbed the book, vaguely remembering reading that but not daring to believe it would be so simple. Sure enough, the book said that salt would do it. He grabbed the shaker, wanting so much for all of this to be over, and laughed, giddy with hope. Audrey laughed with him.

  Cameron opened his mouth when Audrey told him to, flicking her whip, and Michael shook the salt over his ruined mouth. Salt went everywhere, onto Cameron’s face and shirt, onto the table and the floor. Cameron moaned, and coughed and blinked. He stuck out his gray tongue and brushed at the salt with a clumsy hand. Surely some had gotten down his throat.

  “Do you think that was enough? How long is it supposed to take?” Michael asked. He looked at the clock on the microwave. It was eleven thirty.

  “Yeah, I already tried it,” Audrey said. “Before you got here. It’s supposed to be instantaneous. The zombie wakes up and remembers who he is.”

  Cameron licked at the roof of his mouth like a dog given peanut butter.

  The shaker dropped from his hand, thudding on the kitchen floor. “You already tried it?” he said. “And you let me get my hopes up? You bitch.” He wanted to hit her, and kicked the table leg instead. He regretted it immediately. It took real effort not to double over from the pain. After a moment it dulled to a mere throbbing, and he flexed his toes inside his shoe to check that they weren’t broken.

  Audrey pursed her lips, but didn’t laugh. In the space of maybe fifteen minutes she’d scared him half to death, and then crushed him. Was she operating out of grief and shock, Michael wondered, or was this some kind of a power trip? He sat down at the table.

  “I just wonder why doesn’t the salt work if the whip does?” Audrey said after a while. There was sorrow in her voice, and regret. “I guess I wanted to see someone else try it, just to show that I wasn’t crazy, but I should have explained. That was really mean of me. I’m sorry, Michael.”

  Usually it wasn’t hard to forgive Audrey; she’d put a dent in your car, or finish the ice cream you’d been promising yourself, or fuck your friend and make things awkward, but she was always charming and contrite after. This time, though, she’d crossed a line.

  “And I’m sorry for frightening you earlier, when you first came in,” she said. “It’s inexcusable, I know. That was just because I was angry at you for leaving, and I’d almost convinced myself that you weren’t coming back. Where’s Kate?”

  Now Michael was embarrassed. “I’m sorry I left, too. It’ll be funny after all of this is done. You know, the way it’s a tragedy when you get pulled over and have to walk the line and say the alphabet backwards, but then it’s funny later, if you don’t go to jail. Kate asked me for a ride, and I did it.” It sounded silly as he said it. What was more important than being with your friends when they needed you? “She said she had to work, but she could have called in. Being late on rent would be vastly preferable to being, well.” He wouldn’t allow himself to finish that thought.

  “She wasn’t scheduled for today,” Audrey said.

  “She wasn’t?” Kate wouldn’t lie to him, Michael knew. He was pretty sure. Audrey might, though. She didn’t have Kate’s work ethic.

  “I remember this shit. It was Cameron and me and NGNCNF on the schedule for today, plus Sandra. Obviously we’re not going in. The drama mamas will have to deal.” The latter was Audrey’s term for everyone she didn’t like.

  “NGNCNF?”

  “New Guy Not Cool Not Funny. Actually he’s pretty cool, and he teases back.”

  “You’re such a hazer.” Still, that was how Audrey had endeared herself in the first place when Michael had started at Trader Joe’s. She’d been the first of the group to befriend him. Now he wasn’t sure if she was still his friend. Michael reached over and turned the book in Audrey’s hands to show the cover. He was careful not to lose her page. “The Ethnobiology of the Haitian Zombie,” he read. “This is probably not the right manual. We’re not in Haiti, for starters. And he’s not a Haitian zombie. Haitian zombies are way more complicated. Here in the States, we have the post-Romero zombie. Maybe that changes things.”

  Audrey wasn’t listening. “Maybe we could take them to a bokor, like a Voodoo priest.” She took out her phone and typed in “San Francisco bokor.” The results included a LinkedIn profile for one Janine Bokor, and the Bokor National Park in Cambodia. “Maybe Voodoo San Francisco?” she said. The results this time were for nightclubs and hairdressers. “I guess not so much,” she said. “Damn.”

  Michael and Audrey both looked at their zombie, as if he might provide the answers. Cameron’s gaze was focused on Audrey’s breasts.

  “Do you have a T-shirt I could borrow, at least?” she said. “Maybe some pants? Or would Kate have anything?”

  “Sure.” He went to his room and fetched a few items that might fit her. Then inspiration struck and he took out his whip. It wasn’t huge or showy, but he’d gotten it at a good price, and taught himself how to use it from videos on YouTube.

  Walking past Kate’s door, he stopped to listen. It was quiet. He knocked. He ought to let Kate’s friend out. “You OK in there?” he called. “The safe word is juniper berry.” It wasn’t, of course, and who knew if Kate and her friend had even been using a safe word. Michael doubted they’d even needed one.

  There
was a moan from inside the bedroom. Michael set down the clothes he was carrying, and turned the doorknob, hoping hard that the zombie was still tied up. He opened the door a crack, and peeked in. The room smelled of cigarette smoke. The curtains were drawn, and one lamp threw soft yellow light. Kate’s friend was seated on the bed, a cigarette in one hand. She’d managed to get free of the rope. Her wrists must be abraded, but it was too dark to tell. Michael had a terrible suspicion that they had left this woman tied up all night. She’d call the cops, and he’d go to jail. It would all be his fault.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. He couldn’t remember the woman’s name now, and he felt bad about that, too.

  She looked up as he spoke. Her eyes were clouded over. Definitely still a zombie, Michael saw. Part of him was relieved. She was naked. She stood, and as she came towards the light in the hallway, Michael saw that even her tattoos looked like they were losing their color. Her skin was so gray. She stood, letting the cigarette drop to the carpet. She raised her arms as if she wanted to be embraced. But she didn’t swing that way, not if she was banging Kate last night. Michael froze, unable to look away and simultaneously unable to do anything about the burning cigarette, which now smelled like burning plastic. What were the carpets made out of, polyester?

  The zombie raised her arms, not forward like he expected, but to the sides. Her arms writhed like snakes. The ripple moved out from her shoulders to her elbows, her wrists, and her fingers. The skin around her wrists was torn, with scabby bracelets of black blood where the rope had been. Her hips swung around, to one side and then the other. She took a step forward, and Michael stepped backwards. The zombie wore a stage smile, big and brilliant. There was no music, but she kept time, stepping forwards. Knees bent, she rocked her pelvis back and forth. The motion was sharp and practiced. Beautiful, in its own way.

  Michael backed into the hallway. The zombie danced towards him. She shook her shoulders, jiggling her tits. Then she cupped her breasts in her hands. The flesh was firm, even if the skin was gray. She looked down at her chest, then up to Michael, presenting her tits. It was the clearest offer he’d ever gotten, and he was embarrassed that it was having an effect on him. The zombie bared her teeth, pinched her nipples, and took a step closer.