by phuc
George nodded at a couple of familiar faces that said hello to him as he and Al talked about the movie. As they stepped into the parking lot, George turned to them.
“You guys hungry?”
“Hell yeah!” Al said.
“Freeze and Frizz!” Tim chanted.
They piled into George’s car, an old four door Saturn, and were at Freeze and Frizz ordering hamburgers, hotdogs, French fries, and sodas within fifteen minutes.
Freeze and Frizz was a local mainstay in Spring Valley. Located just off Route 501, it was a family-owned hamburger joint that served great food: hamburgers, hotdogs, steak sandwiches, onion rings and fries–and the best chocolate milk shakes in the universe. The place did booming business in the summer thanks to a combination of its food and atmosphere. It sported plenty of indoor booths, a large grassy area with picnic benches, and a playground for the kids. With the completion of the Main Theater down the street, business was booming more than ever.
They took their food to one of the picnic tables outside. Al had already staked a claim on one of them, and as they sat down and divided up the food, George asked Tim why he thought Eli Roth was over-rated as a director. “I think he’s good,” Tim said, biting into his hamburger. “I like his stuff, don’t get me wrong. Most people either love him or hate him. I thought Cabin Fever was awesome, and the first Hostel definitely had its moments.”
“The scariest thing about the first Hostel film was the Elite Hunt club,” Al said.
He dipped his French fries in catsup and chowed down.
“Oh, those guys were the essence of the movie!” Tim said. “I’m really glad he got more into how they operate in the sequel. If you ask me, Hostel 2 was ten times better than the first one.”
George was watching him. “You really love horror movies, don’t you?”
Tim felt suddenly embarrassed. He took a bite of his hamburger, not knowing how to respond, when George smiled. “I dig ‘em too.”
“No shit, me too!” Al said. He took a slurp of his orange soda. “Horror movies, graphic novels, comics–”
“Novels,” George said, nodding.
Tim grinned. The vibe he got from George and Al was that they were sincere. For the first time Tim felt like he was on the verge of finding real friends in Al and George.
“Hey guys, what’s up?”
The three boys turned at the sound of the voice. Tim felt his elation drop a notch.
Gordon Smith and Steve Miller were ambling over. With them were Rebecca Watkins and Susan Snow. Rebecca was Scott Bradfield’s girlfriend, and as far as Tim knew, Susan wasn’t dating anybody. Rebecca tended to hang out with Scott’s friends whenever his old nemesis was occupied elsewhere. Susan was probably tagging along because she was Rebecca’s best friend.
Gordon, Steve and the girls stopped by the table and Gordon sat down beside Tim.
“You guys go to the movies?” Steve asked.
“Yeah,” Al said. He and George were nodding at them, exchanging grins.
“See Hostel 3?” Gordon asked.
“You better believe it,” George said. He had wolfed down all of his fries. “That is one mean movie.”
There was laughter all around. Tim felt like he was in the spotlight. Susan sat down across from him, making small talk with Rebecca, who was standing close by.
Gordon nudged Tim. “So tell me about that book you were reading the other day. The zombie book.”
“You’re reading a zombie book?” Al asked, the interest obvious in his features.
“Yeah,” Tim said.
“So what happened?” Gordon asked.
Tim took a sip of his chocolate shake. “You mean, what happened in the book?”
“Yeah.”
Tim shrugged, curious why Gordon would want to know the plotline of the horror novel he was reading. Gordon was one of those kids that only read when they were assigned books to read in class. “It’s about a group of guys that basically make zombies so they could be their slaves.”
Gordon looked fascinated. “You shittin’ me?”
“No,” Tim said. Part of him felt nervous that he was talking to Gordon in a more or less civilized manner; this was the only time he could remember Gordon being courteous to him. “I’m at the part now where they’ve got a bunch of them enslaved in this…like…encampment…and they’re going to use them to—”
“What’s the name of the book?” Al asked.
“It’s called Back From the Dead and it’s by Richard Long,” Tim told Al. He turned to Gordon. “They make the zombies by a combination of black magic…specifically voodoo and this…I guess you could say it’s this powder made from certain herbs that are found from this plant in the ‘Carribean. I can’t remember the name now. And—”
“So do these zombies eat people?” Steve asked.
Tim realized that they were all paying attention to him now. Even Susan Snow, who’d hardly noticed him since they entered middle school together and was one of the hottest-looking girls in school. Tim took a quick sip of his milk shake to wet his palate.
“No. They don’t eat people. At least they haven’t yet.”
“So how do they make the zombies?” Gordon asked.
Tim shrugged. If this had happened back in the sixth or seventh grade he would have been hesitant to tell him. Gordon would have just run off to tell Scott and Steve, then the three of them would tease and make fun of him about it. However, this time, things seemed different. Tim had the impression that Al and George, who were not only interested in hearing about this too, would take his back if Gordon turned into a shithead.
“Well, some of this novel takes place in Haiti, where zombies are very real to the population there. How the characters in the novel make the zombies is from a mixture of the herbs I mentioned and certain chemicals found from toad skin and puffer fish.”
“Is that because they’re poisonous?” Gordon asked.
“Yeah,” Tim said. “The hungoun, or the voodoo priest, can make the victim appear dead by putting this mixture in food or blowing it as a powder in their face. The victim ingests it involuntarily, they faint, and people think they’re dead. They have an incredibly slow heart rate and labored breathing, and because people are buried so quickly in Haiti due to the high humidity and heat, this suits the zombie-making process. The victim is dug up within eight hours of burial and by then they’re a zombie.”
“So…they’re not really dead?”
“Not really. Well, in Back From the Dead they are because in the book they die and the voodoo priest uses certain rituals in conjunction with the chemicals.”
“What kind of rituals?” Gordon was looking at Tim as if he was sincerely interested in learning about this.
Tim traded a glance with George. “Well…specifically a black magic rite, more out of Santeria than Voodoo. There’s a formula they follow…certain prayers spoken before the victim is secured…oh, and the ground the victim is buried in has to be consecrated…there’s got to be a special ritual performed over it and a sacrifice made.”
“A human sacrifice?”
“No, an animal. In the book they sacrifice a chicken.”
“Okay.” Gordon looked like he was taking mental notes.
“Anyway,” Tim continued, “Once the victim has been killed and buried, another ritual is performed and then the person comes back from the dead, programmed to do the priests…or, in the case of this story, the protagonists, bidding.”
“So they don’t eat people?”
“Not in Back From the Dead they don’t.”
“And they don’t, like, rot and shit?”
“Well…actually, they kinda do.”
“That’s so cool!” Gordon grinned. “I’ve gotta check that book out. Can I borrow it when you’re finished?”
“Sure,” Tim said, before realizing he was agreeing to loan a book to a kid he didn’t really care for. “I should be done with it by Monday.”
“Cool. Thanks.”
Stev
e Downing, who’d been listening earnestly, rested his foot on the bench. “So you think that shit’s real?”
Gordon turned to him. “It’s gotta be real if it’s in a book!”
“Well, Back From the Dead is just a novel,” Tim said. “But the zombie myth itself is said to be the real thing in Haiti. I’m sure there’s more books on it. You know, true account stuff. Non-fiction.”
“Yeah,” Gordon said, standing up. Tim wasn’t even sure if Gordon was paying attention to his caveat about the non-fiction accounts. “Hey listen, thanks a lot, Tim. I’ll catch you at school Monday.”
“Sure.”
Gordon and his friends waved goodbye and headed toward the parking lot. Tim watched them go as he finished his burger and fries. George and Al finished their meal in silence.
“So when did Gordon suddenly become interested in reading books?” Al asked.
Tim shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“I take it Gordon isn’t much of a man of academics, huh?” George asked.
“Nah, not really,” Tim said. He had no intention of giving George a hint of the torments Gordon had put him through back in middle-school. George and Al seemed to be tight enough that Al would probably clue him in a little at some point.
As the three boys gathered up their trash, deposited it in the waste basket, and made their way to George’s car, Tim couldn’t help but feel that the scales had tipped in his favor tonight. Gordon had not only behaved, he’d seemed to respect Tim for his knowledge, something he wouldn’t have done last year. Gordon’s friends for that matter–
Steve, Rebecca, and Susan–were the kind of kids who were followers; if Gordon had acted up, they would have been quick to follow. The fact that Gordon behaved differently around him tonight meant that he was sending the message to his clique that it was now okay to treat Tim like a fellow human being. Not that Tim was looking to hang out with that crowd anytime soon, but it would be nice to go through his last year of high school without suffering any of the indignities he’d had to endure the past five years. All of that had severely limited his social status throughout middle school and for most of his high school years.
Tonight was the start of a new beginning, though. He’d felt that since George asked him if he wanted to hang out tonight.
And the evening couldn’t have gone better.
As they reached George’s car, Al glanced at his watch. “What time you gotta be home?” he asked.
“Eleven.”
“It’s just after ten now.”
“Really? Damn!” He had no idea it was that late.
“Want to go to Spring Valley Park and hang out there?” Al asked.
Tim shrugged. “Sure.”
“Or we can hang out at your place,” George suggested. They were all standing around the car now, talking over the roof to each other. “Would that be cool?”
“Sure.”
“I like that idea better,” Al said.
And so it was settled. They all piled in George’s car and headed back to Tim’s house.
Chapter Four
“So you wanna turn him into a zombie?”
They were in Scott’s room, the bedroom window open to let in the cool late spring breeze. Gordon was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall as Scott reclined on his queen-sized bed and Steve sat at Scott’s desk. David was at a wrestling match. The three of them had just come back from a beating session in the shack. It had been Scott’s turn this time. He’d knocked the bum unconscious after four punches, but this time they waited until the sad sack of shit woke up before starting in on him again. Gordon and Steve had pulled the bum to his feet and Scott knocked him out again with a single punch to the face.
Scott had also cut his knuckles in the process. Now he sat on the bed, a bandage over his right forefinger and across the knuckles where the bum’s teeth had shredded the skin. Said teeth had gone flying like piano keys. They’d left him lying on the floor, still chained up.
“Well, yeah!” Gordon said. “I’m gonna get a copy of this book Monday from Count Gaines. It’s all about how to make zombies. He says you use a chemical made from some kind of frogs and pufferfish and–”
“Where the fuck are you going to get a pufferfish from?” Scott exclaimed.
“I don’t know. The internet?”
Steve came to Gordon’s defense. “Yeah, you can get anything on the internet.”
“Okay, so say you get this pufferfish and the other stuff you need,” Scott said from the bed. “Then what?”
“Well, I need the book to help me out,” Gordon said. “They do this stuff all the time in Haiti and there’s spells you’ve got to do with it.”
“Spells?” Scott looked skeptical.
“Yeah. Count says this stuff is like black magic. You know…devil stuff.”
“You believe that shit?” Scott asked.
Gordon was on a roll. “You believe in God, right? I mean, you’re President of the Spring Valley Christian Outreach Club.”
Scott nodded. “Okay, I see what you mean. But—”
“This is built on the same principle. If you pray to God, He answers. He’s not going to answer us if we pray to keep this guy alive.”
Steve laughed. “Yeah, we’re going to hell for sure on that.”
Scott shot Steve a dark look. “We’re not going to hell for getting rid of that bum!
How many times have I told you that all we’ve gotta do is confess our sins and our souls are cleansed? And that the kingdom of Heaven isn’t open to people with AIDS and drunkards?”
This much was true. A few nights ago, the three of them had been in Scott’s room when Steve suddenly got scared that they were not only going to get in trouble, but they would go to hell for what they’d done to the homeless guy. Scott knew his Bible pretty well. He’d been going to his parent’s Church–First Baptist of Christ on Main Street–since he was five years old. He’d led youth Bible studies and was very involved in the Christian Outreach program at Spring Valley High School, an off campus group that met once a week in the church’s basement. Scott was a charismatic leader. His knowledge of the Bible and his outgoing personality had the Christian student body and the church elders eating out of his hand. He’d told the guys that as long as they were sincerely sorry for their sins and confessed them to Jesus Christ, He would absolve them. Man might judge, but God forgave. Plus, God was strict when it came to who would enter the kingdom.
“Yeah, and I thought the Bible said those who worshipped demons wouldn’t get into Heaven, either,” Gordon said.
“We aren’t worshipping demons,” Scott said. “We’re just—”
“Using them,” Steve said, picking up on Scott’s train of thought.
“Yeah,” Scott said, nodding. “We’re using them.”
Gordon shrugged. No skin off his back. That’s the way he interpreted it, too. After all, didn’t the President of the United States use rogue governments that they considered terrorists or enemies of the country to do their bidding? And the President was usually a man of God himself; well, except for Obama. Or so his parents had told him.
“So what do you think?” Gordon asked. “I want to try it.”
Scott appeared to mull it over. He glanced at Steve. “What do you think?”
“It’ll be cool,” Gordon continued. “Think about what will happen if it works! The guy isn’t going to die and we can continue using him as a punching bag all summer.”
“What if somebody finds him?” Scott asked. “With him being a zombie all summer, somebody’s liable to find out.”
“Nobody’s found out yet, right?”
“He’s got a point,” Scott said. “Your parents are never in that guesthouse anyway.
They’re not gonna suspect a thing.”
“So he’ll be dead but not really dead,” Scott said. He was mulling this over, talking to himself in a way that suggested he was trying to convince himself of the idea.
“Yeah,” Gordon sai
d, in seller’s mode now. No sense telling Scott that if the bum was dead he’d probably continue to rot. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Besides, maybe they could shoot him in the head or something when he got that bad. Wasn’t that how you killed zombies? With a gunshot to the head? “In this book, it talks about this chemical you make from the pufferfish and these certain frogs and it makes it appear that you’re dead.”
Scott nodded. “I like it.” He turned to Gordon. “Let’s do it. You getting the book Monday?”
“Yeah,” Gordon said.
“How long do you think it’ll take before we can turn him into a zombie?”
Gordon shrugged. “I don’t know. I can ask Count to highlight those parts.”
Scott grinned. “I never thought Count Gaines would be good for anything but it looks like he’s going to be.”
The boys laughed at that. Who knew Count Gaines would be good for anything, indeed!
Chapter Five
Tim wasn’t surprised to see Gordon at lunch the following Monday. His former nemesis paid him a visit at his usual hangout spot–a stone bench nestled in a nice little alcove well away from the quad where most of the student body hung out at during lunch.
Due to extra-curricular activities, the kids he sometimes hung out with were scattered to the four winds: Chelsea was assisting her art teacher, Matt was in the computer lab, Al and George were over in Mr. Sharp’s Graphic Arts class preparing for fifth period; he’d had lunch with them only ten minutes ago in the cafeteria. It was during times like these that Tim buried himself in a book.
“Hey Tim,” Gordon said. Tim nodded at him. Not, hey Count, or hey freak. Being addressed by his first name meant some kind of progress was being made. “You finish that book?” Gordon’s expression was eager.
“Yep.” Tim pulled the battered paperback out of his backpack and handed it over to Gordon, who took it excitedly. “Leave the lights on at night when you read it,” he said with a grin.
