The Loving Dead

by Amelia Beamer

  “I’m not the new guy anymore, hon,” he said. He saw Michael. “Mike-O, you all right? You look hella bad.” Jordan clicked the pricing gun, applying the labels with a practiced gesture. Fish oil, multivitamins, and the gummy bears that served as kids’ vitamins. The company was supposed to be coming out with an adult version.

  “I have had better days, to be honest,” Michael said. He wanted to say something like, “Kettle, this is pot,” just to be mean, but he thought better of it.

  “What are you doing here, then?” Jordan said.

  Interrupted, Audrey wandered off, probably to sit in the break room with whoever was there. Even though she claimed not to like their other coworkers, she enjoyed getting the gossip from them. She took pleasure in hearing who had hooked up with whom, and who had broken up with whom. It felt like high school to Michael, and he tried to avoid it.

  Michael leaned on Jordan’s cart. “Jordan, man, you know what a zombie is, right? You’ve seen movies.” When Jordan nodded, Michael gave him a short version of the previous night’s events. He emphasized how heroic Kate had been. After a moment, Jordan stopped working. He held the price gun as if it were a weapon.

  “Sexy zombies are, like, done already. It’s past April Fool’s,” Jordan said. Michael gripped the cart. Several of them had tried to convince Jordan, on April Fool’s Day, that the Price Fairy had declared a ten percent discount on store-brand pills. Jordan had to redo at least an hour’s work. They’d had to buy him a few beers at Cato’s, just to make it up to him. It had been funny at the time.

  “OK.” Jordan said. “If I believe you, and I’m not pretending that I do, what do you want to do about it?”

  “See, the thing is,” Michael told him about the hospital, and the security guard, and how his wallet and phone were in his car, towed to a lot somewhere.

  “Why don’t you call the number and get it back?”

  “There’s no time. Car’s nothing to be proud of. And it’s not like I have a lot of money stashed away. Cash is what it’ll come down to, cash and moveable goods. That’s why I came here. We gotta go somewhere safe. Somewhere defensible. Like an armory, somewhere inaccessible, with weapons and food and not too many people. I mean, we have food here. We could use that as barter to get to safety. Like to an island or something.”

  “You’re crazy, first.” Jordan said. He priced a few bottles of gummy bears. “Why not stay here? Not that I adore work, but where better to weather an apocalypse than a grocery store?”

  Michael gave him some reasons. Sure, there was food, but the building’s doors weren’t secure. And the place was full of people, customers and crew who might turn into zombies at any moment from some hidden bite. Everyone who looked healthy was a potential time bomb. There were at least three factors in finding a safe place, he decided as he talked. Defensibility from the outside threat, minimal crowds, and resources.

  Jordan nodded, as if he believed. “What about IKEA, then?” he said. “Think about it. Two entrances, one at the front, one at the back. Barricade both of them.” He was talking about the IKEA in Emeryville, the next town north. “Everything important is upstairs. Lots of furniture that can be used as secondary blockades. Some food. Lots of things that can be used as weapons. Little house structures where we can set up camps.”

  Michael considered, then shook his head. “You’ve seen Dawn of the Dead. Zombies can go up an escalator.”

  “Not if we shut it down.”

  Perhaps Jordan had a point. Or he was just making fun of Michael.

  “And all of the people who are already there, how do we know that they might not themselves be zombies?” Michael said. “That’s the real problem. They don’t necessarily turn right away. It has to do with how bad the bite is. Plus I think that women can hold out longer. Maybe it’s chemical. Hormones or something.”

  Jordan tucked his long hair behind his ears. He was an attractive guy, which was surely why Audrey liked him. “You wanna know how to make a whore moan? Don’t pay her.”

  Michael smiled, to be polite.

  “Sorry. Cheap but topical.”

  “Nothing wrong with cheap and topical. Some of the smoothest things in my life fit that description.”

  Fearless Leader emerged from the office. “Cameron’s a no-show,” he said. “Tried calling him, but it went to voicemail. Mike, what are you doing here? Feeling shiftless? Want to pick up some hours?”

  “No, just stopped by to say hi.” He didn’t like when people called him Mike. That was a kid’s name.

  “Don’t waste Jordan’s time, then, son.” He went back into the office. A chair sighed from his weight.

  “You’re not going to tell Fearless Leader?” Jordan asked.

  “Tell him what, exactly?”

  “I guess you’re right. Besides, he already is a zombie. He does everything exactly the way corporate wants it, and you know that the more money he can save by not giving us raises, the more money he gets. We’re slaving away here, and he’s on vacation and shit.”

  “You’re exactly right.” It was a conversation that happened regularly, and probably Jordan’s attempt to return to safe ground.

  “Bet you that if that door locked, he’d be watching porn on the computer, the scurvy wench,” Jordan said.

  “He’s not smart enough to find it.” Michael didn’t correct Jordan on his gender slurs; if you could call a guy a bitch, surely you could call him a wench.

  “Not smart enough to find porn on the Internet?” Jordan laughed. “That’s what the Internet was invented for. He probably couldn’t find his nose on his own face.”

  “You call that a face?” Michael said. He stopped. It was too easy to play along. “So what it do?” he said. “Are you up for this?”

  “What about everyone here? Are we going to leave them in the dark?” Jordan shook his head.

  “If there’s anyone you trust, you can tell them. Bring them along. You have a car, right?”

  “Yeah, but it’s a two-seater. Glorified grocery shelf in the back, though a person will fit if they’re reasonably bendy. It was a prezzie from my mom when I graduated with my liberal arts BA from Cal last year. My do-you-want-fries-with-that degree. Instead of MacDoodle’s, I come running up front when the bell tolls because Candy can’t remember what the cat cookies cost. So are we going back to your place, or what?”

  “No, my place is no good. Too many windows.” He was a little jealous that Jordan had a degree and was wasting his time working the stock room. If he had a degree, he’d be working in an office somewhere, making decent money, thirty grand a year with weekends off, even if it was the Michael Scott Doodad Company and he fell miserably in love with the receptionist. “So it’s you, and me, and Audrey.” He knew that Audrey was a point in his favor. Everyone liked her.

  “IKEA?” Jordan asked.

  “Too many people.” He was about to ask Jordan what his own place was like. Then he thought about how he’d felt trapped in the bathroom that morning, with zombies in the bedrooms and Audrey and Cameron in the kitchen. The ceiling vent. The prisoners at Alcatraz who’d tunneled out. “Say zombies are real,” he said. “They probably can’t swim, at least not past the riptide. What about an island? What about Alcatraz? Not a lot of resources, but it’s defensible as hell. And it’ll be empty after the last ferry comes back to the mainland.”

  “I like it. That ferry costs like forty bucks or something, though.” He clicked his price gun.

  “We’re not going to take the ferry. Too crowded. We’ll have to hijack a boat or something.” He said it as if he did it regularly, just for fun. He knew about ropes and knots; that had to be worth something. He should be able to figure it out. Hotwiring might not even be necessary, not that he knew how. Probably someone would have left their keys under the seat.

  “Got a buddy who has a boat off Treasure Island, come to think of it,” Jordan said. “Only fits four, I think. It’s little, has to stick close to the shore, but I think we can take it to the island.�
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  Michael nodded. “That’s cool. I was thinking we could steal a boat if we had to, but it’d be better if we could do it honest.” Jordan seemed like he was up for it, and since Jordan might be his last chance, that was a good thing. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

  “You not going to tell anyone, then?” Jordan priced his index finger.

  Michael shrugged. He should tell Barry-with-the-eyebrows, and Cindy, the older woman who always made extra food for crew when she did product demos, and Michelle, the OSHA-says-don’t-do-this poster child who was so tiny that she had to climb onto the edge of the hip-height freezer of tamales and enchiladas in order to restock the chocolate on the shelf above it, and a dozen other people. He should tell all of the crew, regardless of whether he liked them. He should tell the customers, even if they started panicking. Or laughing. It might be the difference between life and death.

  “So you’re in, then?” Michael said to break the silence.

  “I’m off at six. And I gotta finish this, or the Price Fairy’s going to kick my ass.”

  He understood that Jordan was telling him to get lost so that he could bust through his work. Michael looked at the clock. It was after five. He could gather some supplies, and they could get out of there before any of the ticking time bombs went off. Maybe.

  “OK. I’m going to assemble a few things. Then we should go.” He was trusting Jordan, and he didn’t like it.

  Michael wanted to collect some supplies, but he couldn’t take anything off the floor, where the customers were, because that might get him in trouble. He needed food and maybe some booze. Both would be necessary in the long run, for trade as well as for their own use. He went through the backstock, eyeing the labels. He’d have to sneak out the back; after some suspicion of thefts, the captains were supposed to look through everyone’s bags before they left. Most shift captains would just wave employees through, or glance at their things, but if Fearless Leader was there, he insisted on doing it himself. He was meticulous about checking all of the pockets of people’s bags. Kate had bragged about putting her tampons near the top of her bag, trying to embarrass him. She hadn’t even been trying to steal anything; said she’d wanted to make a point about privacy. Michael admired her for that. According to her, he’d let her through with a cursory look. Michael missed Kate, missed how ballsy she was. Wherever she was, whatever reasons she’d had to lie to him, maybe it didn’t matter. If he could forgive Audrey, he could forgive Kate.

  Michael decided that since he wasn’t working that day, the regular rules wouldn’t apply. He’d leave through the receiving door. If he got himself fired, he could get another job. Sure, TJ’s was pretty cushy, as retail went, thirty-five hours a week, starting at ten dollars an hour with regular raises, plus health insurance after 90 days, but he could work at Walmart with the toothless, tattooed, heavily made-up white trash if he had to.

  He found an empty box. Wine was too heavy, not enough return on investment. He settled for a few bottles of hooch. He didn’t take the store-branded 18-year-old Macallan single malt, though he could have, but a few bottles of bottom-shelf stuff in plastic bottles. Less likely to break than glass, and after the third drink, you didn’t taste it anyway. He looked for shelf-stable food, something that would transport well. He disregarded tuna, though it was compact and a good source of protein, because he didn’t have a can opener. He considered pasta and rice, but those had to be boiled. Then he found a case of Indian food in the silver envelopes. That would work. He assembled a box of his favorites, Matter Paneer, and chickpeas with tomato sauce. Worse came to worst, you didn’t even have to heat this stuff up. You didn’t need a can opener, or a plate. You could tear the foil packages open and squeeze it into your mouth. It was a fair combination of calories and water, without being too heavy. He filled a cardboard box, adding a few bottles of water, though he was pretty sure that Alcatraz had water fountains, and threw in a package of crackers. He left enough space to close the box. It didn’t seem like enough stuff, but it was what he could carry, especially if Jordan had a two-seater. He left the box on the floor by the receiving door, which was open. That seemed like a bad idea, to leave open a door so large that you could drive a truck through it. Michael felt guilty about his coworkers working away, unaware. He couldn’t be responsible for everyone, he told himself.

  Michael went to the break room to get Audrey. She wasn’t there. That wasn’t good. He shouldn’t have let her out of his sight. On instinct, he checked the punch clock. Her card had been punched in. She must have borrowed a uniform. Someone would have an extra Hawaiian shirt in their locker, and would be happy to loan it to her in exchange for some unnamed favor later. He walked through the store, dodging shopping carts and customers. He helped himself to a little paper cup of coffee from the silver urn, and a sample of pad thai and a plastic fork from the demo counter. Cindy looked up from plating food into the paper cups. She was friendly, and for some reason she liked serving food and talking with customers.

  “Hiya doing, Mike? Shopping today?”

  “Sort of, yeah.” He swallowed the pad thai, which stuck in his throat. The coffee was too hot. “Today’s a really weird day,” he said. They were surrounded by customers, which made him nervous.

  Cindy gave him a sympathetic look, and proffered more of the pad thai. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, hon,” she said.

  He spotted Audrey in the meat section, shelving chicken. “’Scuse me,” he managed to say. He made his way over to Audrey. She wore a Hawaiian shirt that was way too large, and a nametag that said “Jorge.” That guy hadn’t worked there for months. She smiled. Her pupils were the same size, but her smile was larger than the situation called for. She thought she was being funny by going to work. This was all a joke, for his benefit.

  “Honey, what are you doing?” he asked. He grabbed her wrist, and she dropped the chicken she was holding. It fell into the beef section.

  “What does it look like, dairy?” she asked. She was trying to hold onto her smile. As if to remind him that this is just another normal day at work, making jokes and moving products. “I swear, you’re a weird dude.”

  “How did you get here?” he whispered. He held onto her wrist. She looked pained. He loosened his grip. “I mean, to Trader Joe’s. Do you remember this morning? Do you remember last night?” He realized that he was trying to break her. Force her to understand what was going on. She wasn’t smiling any more. He might have pushed her too far. She’d be useless if she went back to being psychotic, and if she started crying it would be worse. They’d never get out of there. “Never mind, honey, just, please,” he said, trying to sound soothing. “Don’t think about it. Don’t worry about it. Look, there was a mistake in the schedule, and you’re not supposed to work today. So, to celebrate, we’re going to go on a little trip. Come with me.”

  She stood. Perhaps she was humoring him, but she let him lead her into the back of the store. He found Jordan pricing.

  “You’re an ass, Mike, you know?” Jordan, in his work shirt, smelled like he’d been working all day. He held his price gun with the righteous wrath of the Price Fairy.

  Michael nodded in agreement. He had his box of stuff by the door. He had Audrey. It wasn’t nearly enough. He needed to call Kate. At least find out where she was. He wished he could touch her. “I just have to make a quick call before we boogie. Hang out with Aud while I do it?” He held out Audrey’s arm, and Jordan took it from him.

  “You have to make an announcement,” Jordan said. “Tell everyone what’s happening. Or we’re going without you. I mean it.”

  Michael went into the office, which was at least empty. Fearless Leader had gone elsewhere. He picked up the phone, conscious of Jordan and Audrey watching him. He felt like a hostage. The worst part was that Jordan was right. He hit the nine key, and then the speakerphone button. He was going to lose his job for this. He’d fantasized about making so many inappropriate announcements during his time at TJ’s. None of them, oddl
y enough, concerned zombies.

  “Attention, Trader Joe’s customers and crew. Attention everyone, please.” He cleared his throat. He had no idea what to say. “This is not a joke. It has come to my attention that the walking dead are among us. I mean, they’re not exactly dead, and they do other things than just walking. They will bite you, for example. Whether or not you want them to. And you don’t want them to. There will be blood. You will turn into one of them, and bite your friends and family, and also people you don’t like. You won’t necessarily turn into one of them immediately. It might take hours. Anyone here might have been bitten. I highly suggest you proceed home, in an orderly fashion, board up your windows, lock your doors, and check the news for further instructions. Keep in mind that zombies obey whips. If you encounter any, the best thing to do is to tie them up. Gags are probably good, too. Lock them in a room, and don’t let them out. There’s no reason to kill them. I have faith that they can recover. This is not a joke. I really wish it were. My jokes are normally better than this.” He hung up. His hand was shaking. He looked at Jordan.

  “I guess that’s all right. I’d have done it, but I really don’t like public speaking. Plus, it’s your responsibility. Your zombies, man.”

  “Speaking of, I just have to make a quick phone call.” Michael pointed at the door. “Do you mind?”

  Jordan shook his head. “Not at all.” He sat in one of the chairs, and Audrey sat in the other.

  Michael would get no privacy. He picked up the phone, then realized that he couldn’t remember Kate’s cell number. He hadn’t memorized a number since he’d gotten his first cell phone. He found the crew directory, a coffee-stained printout in a drawer underneath a hardened starfish. He dialed.

  chapter thirteen

  Kate answered her phone, even though she usually screened calls from work. Probably they wanted her to pick up a shift because someone had called in sick. She’d arranged her schedule that week so she’d have the day after the party to recover. But she was ready to talk with anyone who cared to call.