by Annie Walls
I quickly find out she wants to comb out my dreads, and color the bottom half of my hair blue. The coloring doesn’t scare me, it’s the combing out my locks that terrifies me.
“You can’t comb them out! I’ll be bald!” I argue, sitting on her bed piled with an assortment of clothing.
“Don be stupid, Suga! Yew didn’t tease ‘em! And anyway, yew been washin’ ‘em with shampoo. Yew ain’t suppose to wash dreads with shampoo that leaves residue that grow mold and otha funky shit. Yers hadn’t. Dey not real dreads.”
Slightly offended, I don’t bother to tell her I don’t wash them all the time. I reluctantly agree when she says I can sleep while she does it.
After a shower to get rid of zombie crud, I lather my locks with a thick, oily conditioner. She told me not to rinse it, so I don’t.
I lay on her bed before she sets about her tedious task. After a few minutes, I realize they are long enough to where I don’t feel the pull, just a lulling sound of combing.
“Least yew didn’t tease these. Yew’d have to shave yer head to git ‘em out,” she says.
I shrug. “I just stopped brushing it and it matted and wove together into locks. I never had to tease them. They were au natural.” Her lips purse like this is the dumbest thing a girl can do.
It takes hours of combing and when she wakes me, it’s early evening. She finishes toward my scalp. We wash it, condition it, and comb it again with products I didn’t know existed before the outbreak, let alone now. All the loose hair that comes out of them can make several wigs. My hair seems six inches longer, too.
She trims my hair even at the middle of my back before she parts my hair horizontal, bleaches and colors the hair on the bottom half of my scalp. She keeps it down, but puts soft waves in it. Running my hair between my fingers feels foreign. I automatically grieve and wonder if she’ll tease them back in, but she scoffs at my request, shoving me toward a mirror.
My eyes widen, not recognizing myself, but I do. A wave of melancholy over takes me as my pretty face frowns back at me. I don’t look like me, but who I was in the old life. Turning my head, peeks of blue poke out, bringing out natural highlights. My light hazel eyes pop, looking bigger.
Glinda enhances my eyes even more when she uses eyeliner and mascara. Painting my face with soft brushes, the make-up feels caked-on. When I peer into the mirror, everything dusted on highlights my natural beauty.
Several clothing changes later, Glinda is finally satisfied with a frayed denim mini skirt and a brown and turquoise print top with splashes of purple. The top hugs my curves, and is almost as long as the skirt, giving the appearance of a tight dress with denim fringes. Although, different from my normal T-shirt and jeans, and feeling my bare legs in open air, I like it. Glinda says my boots will look great with it, and I’m excited she lets me wear them.
“I don’t look like a hooker,” I say, still gazing at myself in the mirror, having strange memories of vanity and fashion. I don’t tell Glinda this – she’d only scorn me for giving it up.
“I have taste, yew know?” She rolls her eyes, “I’ve been wantin’ to do this since I saw yew. I was a hairdresser before, yew know? I know fashion.”
“That’s how you know so much about dread locks. You’re really good at it.” I smile at her through the mirror, and her eyes glint.
“Thank yew. Can I ask yew sumthin?” I nod to her. “Wut yew think about Reece? Yew two seem close.” She shrugs nonchalantly.
Reece? “Um…he’s a good guy. We’ve become good friends, and partners in crime.” She smiles. Good for her.
“I think I might dance wit that man!” We laugh.
Now that she said something, she doesn’t look like she normally does either. Well, she hasn’t really in the last few days. I noticed, but I didn’t think she had a romantic interest in anyone, let alone Reece. It makes sense – they have both been hanging out with me, talking and getting to know each other.
Blonde curls drape her covered cleavage, leaving something to the imagination. The dark blue blouse fit her perfect, enhancing her blonde hair and blue eyes. Her slim black skirt stops five inches above the knees with black suede boots that end just below the kneecap. She usually wears skirts no more than five inches below her ass cheeks. Her make-up is soft and natural looking.
“You look amazing, Glinda. Reece will be proud to dance with you.”
She lets out a relieved breath, “Good Suga, I’m hopin’ so.” I nod, feeling funny to be talking this way after so long.
Opening my mouth for more girl talk, she grabs my arm. “Suga! Let’s go party till tha sun comes up!”
***
We make it to the Clap Trap. It’s hopping with walking monsters and an assortment of other costumes roaming around like Halloween. I glance at Glinda, confused, and she laughs her tinkering laugh. “For tha costume contest, Suga!”
“Kansas.” I turn toward my name, and Rudy stands, staring at me.
Feeling silly as his eyes roam my body, I ask, “Hey, what’s up, Rudy?”
Rubbing his freshly shaved chin, all signs of fighting are missing from his face. “Nothing much,” he pauses. “I almost didn’t recognize you. Good thing I’d know you anywhere.”
I smile, “I’m having mixed feelings about it.”
“If it makes you feel better, you don’t look like a prostitute.” The white bandana holds back his hair and his eyes sparkle. Reaching out to me, he twirls a streak of my blue hair around his finger. I think he just wants to touch to see if it is real. I watch the ends span out, and his gaze travels the length of it. “You look – great. Enjoy it. You don’t ever get to do this, and with us leaving soon…” He drops the strand of hair. On impulse, I grab his hand and put his fingers into my hair. His neck colors, pleasing me, and he runs his fingers through it before dropping his hand back down to his side.
“Thanks, Rudy,” I stand on tiptoe, and he leans down for me to kiss him on the cheek.
His face gets serious, but then he smiles, making my day. “Save me a dance, later?”
I nod as he turns toward the bar. For some reason, Malachi’s face flashes through my mind, and a wave of fresh grief sits heavy. I haven’t felt this sad in a while. Maybe Rudy triggered it. Maybe being at my old home did. It makes me think of what Mac said about Malachi. Right then, I know I’ll get drunk.
When I make my way to the bar, Glinda’s laughing with Sam. Goofy Sam with a bobbing fohawk in individual spikes with a spiked dog collar, animatedly talks to her. She’s huddled next to Reece, who talks to Rudy. Reece seems happy to have Glinda there with him. I laugh at Reece’s T-shirt – a tuxedo print, but the funny part is he wears his leather vest. I imagine he would wear it over a real tux given the chance.
Everyone gushes over the job Glinda did with my hair. She eats up the drama of combing out my locks, exaggerating, well not really. It was hard work, and she deserves the credit.
I order a drink and realize it’s an open bar night. Guido goes all out. Speaking of Guido, he’s here in all of his Guido pimpin’ glory, complete with a sparkly top hat, fur cape, and cane. I shake my head as the DJ spins his own remix of Monster Mash, and everyone goes crazy on the dance floor. Lucy, the new famished, writhes in a cage. Someone dressed her in a shimmering evening gown with her boobs propped up with a push-up bra. I don’t envy the person who dressed her. Dark hair flows down her back. People feed her live meat, probably mice. It’s disgusting as she tears into it, blood dripping down her chest and gown. My eyes narrow at the sight, and I slam my shot of tequila.
“Is that you, Sunshine?” I turn and smile at Mac. He shaved, and wears a pristine white T-shirt that emphasizes his upper body nicely, and I’m surprised to see jeans instead of green or camouflage canvas pants. Curls, still damp from the shower, but drying softly, hang loose on his forehead.
I meet the wicked gleam in his eyes. “Like what you see?” he asks.
“Do you?” I retort.
“Love it. Always.” Kissing me, his arm w
raps around my waist, and leads me to the dance floor.
Dancing with Mac is always a dangerous thing, and a thrill I enjoy immensely. Music beats from the speakers, vibrating the floor below our feet. Moving against my hips and pulling me closer, he smells like fresh soap. The room swirls color and people as he spins me around, putting my back to his chest. He holds me in place with a hand on my lower abdomen. My insides clench, the small touch sends goose bumps up my spine and down my arms. Burying his face in my hair, his breath on my neck becomes almost unbearable. His lips pull into a smile on my skin, and I look back at him. The look in his eye tells me he knows what he’s doing.
Two can play that game. My arms slide behind our heads, and my fingers in his curls hold him in place. I sway my hips to the pumping beat with my body so close, we become one. Our breathing comes faster, and my hands follow his arms to his hands. I guide them down letting him feel my thighs, and bring them up tracing my waist and the curves of my breasts.
His breath hitches. “If you don’t stop, we won’t make it back to the room.” The huskiness of his voice makes me want to just get it on, right here on the dance floor.
Spinning me back around, his mouth caresses mine before I can look at his face. Enticing me with his tongue and lips, his fingers play in my hair as his other hand slides inside my top to the skin on my lower back. I’m ready to take him up on his offer when we get jostled by another couple. Not unusual, but our heads crack together breaking the spell. Once the static clears from my eyes, I look over in time to see Mac’s arm flash out, knocking the drunk guy to the floor.
“Watch where the fuck you’re going!” he snaps at the couple. I know Mac hasn’t had anything to drink because it wouldn’t bother him otherwise. Mac can be a dick, but I want to push the guy down myself. We watch as the woman tries to pick up the drunk man, keeping a grip on his arm as he fails to get up from laughing and having a good time, unfazed by the punch.
Mac flashes me an apologetic smile, grabbing my hand. “Come on, I need a drink.”
After several shots of different liquor, I get advances for dancing. Who wouldn’t want to dance with me, after seeing me use Mac as a stripper pole? I begin to flow into that tunnel of drunkenness, where everything narrows to what only I’m doing, and the few people around me. I don’t blink an eye when Guido asks me to dance. I ignore a comment he makes about me reminding him of whipped cream, and manage to keep it PG.
Glinda and I teach Rudy and Reece the Thriller dance as the DJ spins his very own remix that I love. Rudy’s more suited to this type of choreographed dancing. After, Ty shows me how to shake my booty, so I don’t dance like a white girl. He dances with a certain girl most of the night, one around our own age with mocha colored skin. Rudy informs me her name is Felicia, and she is indeed Ty’s girlfriend.
After several more drinks, laughs, and dances, Rudy links his finger through mine to pull me deep on the dance floor. All the bodies press together in a mass wave of gyration, giving him the perfect excuse to hold me close. We move together as the music sets the pace. His hand across my back slides down splaying his fingers on the first outward curve of my butt. The moves sets my blood on fire, but I don’t think he does it on purpose.
“Darlin’?”
“Hmm?”
A small laugh slips from him, “Your gun’s in the way.”
“So is yours.” Ignoring my complaint, he removes my gun from the small of my back, and tucks it behind him. Bringing his hand back around, his fingers slide up my top to replace the gun, clinging to my naked skin, pressing me against him.
Sticking his face into my hair, he whispers in my ear, “That’s not my gun.”
I tense at his meaning – I’m not sure if he’s just teasing a blush out of me. A part of me doesn’t want to know. Twining my arms around his neck, we dance. I don’t notice any of his usual awkwardness at all. Being drunk and not thinking clearly, it seems he gives me his full attention while his other hand runs through my hair, tipping my head back, and then maneuvers around my waist and hips. A caress smoothes against the back of my thigh, and my skin breaks into goose bumps. I’m so stunned and turned on, I can smell his worn leather smell, and it’s all I can do not to bury my face into him. I dance for all I’m worth, focusing on the music because maybe he’s not teasing me after all. When the song is over, he dips me low. His arm tightens around my waist as he stares down at me. A finger grazes across my bottom lip so light I might be imagining it, and I suck in a short gasp. A smile breaks out across his face, beaming dimples before he kisses my forehead. Lifting me up, I’m unsteady on my feet, and he keeps a tight grip on my waist.
I glance up at him, “You’re not as bad a dancer as I thought you were.”
His eyes move to my lips. “It’s all you, Darlin’.” Lifting the back of my top slowly, the steel of the Bersa gets tucked into my skirt, already warm from his body.
I don’t know how long we stand there, but he reluctantly lets me go, accepting another dance from someone else. I watch him for a minute, noticing his awkward dancing. My brain fuzzy from alcohol, I’m imagining things.
I take another shot before walking to Lucy’s cage. Getting jostled and jerked around, I manage to watch Lucy as music booms at me from all directions. The vibrations seem to cause my vision to thump with it. Lucy’s hands grab at me frantically. The later it gets, the drunker people get, and they pay her no mind. I pull my Bersa from the small of my back and squeeze the trigger, shooting her in the head. Bloody, sticky bits splatter the DJ stand. The music stops abruptly, and I turn around. Everyone stares at me like I’m insane. Guido’s catches my eye. A flash of something crosses his face, but I ignore it lifting my chin. Really? I’m the crazy one?
I head toward the door when the music cuts back on and the party resumes. Mac catches my arm, grinning. “Way to show your opinion.”
I smile. Of course he already knows how I feel about Lucy ‘giving back to the community.’ I clear my throat, “Damn straight.”
***
I go to bed in Mac’s room after washing muck and make-up off my face. Mac stays behind to talk to Reece and Sam. I lay down on the bed, feeling the alcohol course through me. My strange night catches up to me.
On the way out of the Clap Trap, Mago blocked my passage. I didn’t even know he was there, but he stood, staring down at me with unreadable dark eyes. My neck cramped from looking up at him. All black covered his whole being like a shadow of death ready to bring my inevitable doom.
“How do you do that?” I asked him in a slur of words.
Knowing I asked about Pappers, he smiled showing white teeth that brought much needed color to his dark face. Waving a hand at the chaos going on behind us. “Oh, you know... Just like having a pet.” The words came out slow, and not without sarcasm, a fluent language for me. “Why did you shoot it?” This wasn’t said as slow, making me believe this was the reason he kept me from leaving. He didn’t seem mad, just curious, but strange he said it. Usually, the people here refer to them by gender, or like tonight, by name.
I mocked him, waving my arm. “Oh, you know... Just like having a pet, with rabies. Got to put it down.” His eyes narrowed, knowing I didn’t give him the whole truth, just the same as he didn’t give me the whole truth. With his scrutiny getting to me, I fled down the hall and out the door.
A very strange night indeed, and one I don’t want to think about too deeply. Feelings that I haven’t felt in a long time resurfaced today, turning my thoughts to the day. The day Malachi and I left the carnival. Running to the car behind Malachi as he gripped my hand tight, narrowly avoiding more insane people. Blood dripped from his shoulder, leaving a trail in our wake. I drove as Malachi pressed an old shirt to his bite wound. I brought up the possibility of zombies. Malachi kept thinking it was something different, refusing to see, at first. We argued more than we had ever argued. I was crying, and by the time we got to the hospital, we weren’t speaking. Tension thick between us, I never once let my mind float to the
possibility of Malachi changing.
The hospital, in complete chaos, seemed like it held the whole city that day. Men and women waited impatiently with severe injuries while their children screamed and cried from the confusion. My phone showed twenty-four missed calls from my dad, but I ignored it. I ignored everything as I tried going to a place in my mind, to be numb. By that time, seeing the extent of the pandemonium, my tears flowed freely as Malachi squeezed my hand, trying to get me to look at him, whispering reassurances I knew were a lie.
We sat still, watching the scene in front of us. Now, I only recall it being the stupidest thing I had ever done. It’s amazing I’m still alive. The crazed people being subdued, biting the orderlies trying to calm them down, taking chunks out right before our eyes. Shrieks and screams came from the back. A thick coppery smell mixed with antiseptic wafted through the ER waiting room. A doctor came through the double doors with blood running down his lab coat. It smeared his mouth and hands, and he seemed to see nothing as the glass doors slid open, letting him into the outside world.
We sat next to a sleeping man. I remember thinking how the hell could he be sleeping at a time like this? I found out soon enough when he woke up trying to bite me with vacant eyes, glazed and bloodshot. Drool ran down his mouth. Malachi jumped at him, keeping him away from me. He yelled at me to get the gun. The gun tucked into the man’s pants, so I grabbed it. Malachi kicked the man backwards, grabbed my hand, and we raced out.
We went to the parking lot vacant of people, save for the massive amount of cars parked and lined up. An ambulance sat, crashed into the hospital, the siren still blaring, the first red flag upon going into the ER, unnoticed. Malachi began talking to me calmly.
I remember being dazed as the conversation flickers vaguely through my mind, “You were right...those people...I don’t...I can’t...never want to hurt you...my shoulder...pain...” Then, the one thing that snapped me out of it. “You have to shoot me.”
