JF Gonzalez - Back From The Dead.wps

by phuc

  And they were supposed to be church-going Christians.

  “So we’re not going to stay long?” Dave asked.

  “We’ll play it by ear,” Scott said. He grinned. Then he headed toward the house.

  “Let’s clean this nasty shit off us!”

  Gordon glanced at Steve and Dave, who shrugged. Steve and Dave seemed resigned to just follow Scott anywhere he chose to lead them, even if it was over a cliff.

  Gordon shrugged too, wanting to voice his opposition but at the same time afraid to.

  Then, they followed Scott into the house.

  And the sense of dread that was beginning to settle in Gordon’s belly became even heavier as it became evident what Scott was insinuating. They weren’t going into the city to get another homeless person after all. That grin told Gordon all he needed to know.

  They were going to lure one of the party-goers back to the house and feed him, or her, to the zombies.

  * * *

  Tim Gaines wasn’t expecting to attend Susan Zimmerman’s party, but attend it he did.

  It had been George’s idea to show up. They had just exited the movie theater and were talking about what they’d just seen when George brought the idea up. “It’s still early. Want to check out Susan’s party?”

  “Sure!” Al said.

  Tim shrugged. “I guess. Think it’s okay?”

  “Why not? Matt said he might be there and I think he was going to bring Chelsea.” He winked at Tim. “Don’t play dumb with me, Tim. I saw how you and Chelsea were checking each other out before we got booted out of school.”

  Tim rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. We’re just friends.”

  “Of course you are. Friends that want to be alone so they can suck face.”

  Tim didn’t say anything and tried not to look too embarrassed. He’d been mildly attracted to Chelsea since the beginning of this last semester and tried not to let it be known. That obviously had not worked, and it was also obvious that Chelsea felt the same way, which was even more of a shock to Tim’s system. Girls had never liked him, mostly because of the bullshit rumors that had been spread by Heather Watkins and Emily Wynfield back in the seventh grade, but Chelsea was different. She hung out with their crew. She was as much a loner and outcast as he was.

  They headed over to Susan Zimmerman’s home, which was on the other side of town. Unlike Tim and his friends, Susan wasn’t a social outcast, but then she wasn’t part of the social elite of Spring Valley High, either. Tim classified Susan as neutral in the whole thing. She was pleasant enough, and she often talked to him in class, but that was about it.

  Susan lived with her parents and two younger brothers in a large two story McMansion on Sixth Street. When they arrived there were already twenty kids crowded in the basement rec room swilling punch and soft drinks. Susan’s mom, Cindy, was playing chaperone. She was standing by the refreshment table talking to Lisa Harman and Danielle Allegeny. Panic at the Disco was playing on the stereo. A group of kids Tim recognized from school were playing foosball. Other kids were huddled in groups of three or four, talking.

  When they walked into the rec room several kids glanced their way. A few eyebrows rose in surprise, as if to exclaim oh my! The freaks are here! George grinned slightly. Tim was under the impression George was enjoying his new found status as a social outcast. In a perfect world George would have been among the social elite of the student body, with his good looks and athletic build. Instead, he’d chosen to not only be friends with Tim, he was actually enjoying being an outcast!

  George nodded at several people as they entered and Tim did the same. With George and Al at his side he was filled with a sudden burst of confidence. Nothing could happen to them here. His friends had his back. He nodded greetings at several kids he knew, some of whom looked away. Others nodded back at them, kids Tim recognized as being neutral to the whole drama he’d experienced the past few years.

  As they approached the refreshment table, Al nudged him gently. “Scott and his buddies at ten o’clock.”

  Tim nodded. He was looking for Matt and Chelsea. They were nowhere to be seen.

  Somebody said, “It’s Count Gaines and his followers.” A nervous laugh followed.

  Tim ignored them and smiled at Danielle as she greeted them warmly. George and Al made small talk with Danielle and her friends while he stood by and took subtle glances around the room, taking stock of who was there.

  The source of the Count Gaines comment made itself known a moment later.

  Dave Bruce and Steve Downing. They were standing five feet away, hanging out with Scott Bradfield and Gordon Smith and another guy Tim recognized from the Spring Valley High football team. Dave grinned stupidly at him and raised his drink in a mock salute. He mouthed the word “Count” and Tim felt a sense of power surge through him.

  He grinned. He wasn’t intimidated by these losers anymore. They might be the source of all his problems, but he wasn’t afraid of them.

  Gordon glanced their way and when he saw them, he looked away. Tim wondered if it was because he felt guilty about lying to the police about that book. As Tim accepted a glass of punch from Danielle and sipped it, he wondered how his copy of Back From the Dead wound up in the cemetery parking lot in the first place. The only thing he could think of was Gordon had to have left it there, whether by accident or on purpose it didn’t matter. Gordon was the only one who could have left it there, and that meant he was present when that grave was desecrated. The police could find no physical evidence of Tim, Al, or George being anywhere within the vicinity of that cemetery the evening the grave was vandalized, and they hadn’t even tried questioning Gordon again. Doug Fenner had tried suggesting to the police that Gordon and his friends be investigated, but the police dismissed it. It looked like the entire matter was going to be dropped, but that didn’t stop Tim from thinking that Gordon, and quite possibly one of his other loser friends, were the real culprits of the grave vandalism.

  And if that was the case, why had they done it? Tim didn’t think they’d have the balls to actually steal the bones of a long interred dead person, much less desecrate a grave, just to frame him. That was going a bit too far.

  Tim’s mind was just about to go into overdrive in trying to come up with a scenario for why Gordon and his friends would try to frame him, when George interrupted his thoughts. “Chelsea and Matt just got here.”

  Tim turned to the door that led to the back yard. Matt and Chelsea were standing there, looking a bit apprehensive about entering a party composed entirely of kids they hated. Matt was short, with longish blonde hair, and Chelsea was small and slender with black hair that hung to her shoulders. Chelsea saw him and smiled. Tim grinned back.

  “What’s up, Count Gaines?”

  Tim whirled around and came face to face with Scott Bradfield.

  Scott was grinning. Dave, Steve, Gordon, and that football jock framed him on either side. Dave and Steve had those same dumb grins on their faces, as if they were anticipating something. Gordon looked like he didn’t want to be there and wouldn’t meet Tim’s gaze. The football jock looked like he wanted to fight somebody.

  “What’s up?” Tim said.

  George and Al turned around, too. Al nodded. “Hey, what’s up?”

  Scott ignored George and Al, his gaze directed entirely on Tim. “Never thought I’d see you here tonight, Count. Getting pretty brave.”

  “I guess I am.”

  “Congratulations on getting your new friends suspended from school.”

  “Thank you!” Tim grinned.

  “This the motherfucker that tried to throw you under the bus, Gordon?” The football jock glowered at Tim, his blue eyes fiery pits.

  “He’s cool, John,” Gordon said, still not looking at Tim.

  “Actually, you’re right, John,” Scott said. “Gaines has a nasty habit of practicing witchcraft and doing weird shit and then trying to blame his crimes on other people. I wouldn’t worry about him, though. He’s been put
in his place enough times.”

  “You best not be fucking with my boys, asshole,” football jock said. His gaze did not waver from Tim. For his part, Tim did not look away.

  “Count Gaines knows not to fuck with us,” Scott said.

  “That’s true,” Tim said, not dropping his own gaze. He smiled. “I have better things to do.”

  Football jock blinked. He looked like he did not know how to interpret this.

  Scott glanced at Matt and Chelsea. His smile grew wider. “We were just going to make our own party at my place. Want to hang out with us, Chelsea?”

  “Nope,” Chelsea said. She was suddenly at Tim’s side. “Like Tim said, I have better things to do.”

  Scott put on a mock surprise of hurt. “Aw, now is that any way to treat a guy who shows interest in you?”

  “You show interest in all the girls, Scott,” Chelsea said. “And besides, what would Rebecca think?”

  “She’s not here,” Scott said.

  “How come she isn’t here?” George asked politely. “You two still going out?”

  Scott shrugged. “You know how it is. Girls like to have the occasional night off from arm candy duty.”

  Dave tried to hurl another insult Tim’s way. “But you wouldn’t know that, Tim.”

  “You’d be surprised,” Chelsea answered for him.

  Muted giggles rose from Scott’s band of nitwits. The old instinct to blush never came to Tim. Instead he felt strong, positive. “Have a pleasant evening, gentlemen.” Then he turned and, as if on cue, George, Al, Matt, and Chelsea followed suit. They headed toward the sliding glass doors that led to the back yard.

  “Hey, wait! Where you going?” Scott broke off from his pack to follow them.

  George paused long enough to address Scott. “We’re taking off. See you later.”

  Football jock looked like he still wanted to fight somebody. He joined Scott in attempting to follow them outside. Tim could feel the penetrating gaze of football jock’s eyes on his back and was somewhat relieved when Danielle stepped in to intervene. “Hey Scott, John, come here, I’ve got something for you guys.”

  As they stepped into the back yard, Tim thought he heard the other guys mutter behind their backs. “Fucking weirdos,” and “They fuckin’ walked away from us! Did you see that shit?” This did not make him nervous. Instead, it made him mad.

  George nodded at Tim as they gathered in the back yard. A small knot of kids were gathered beneath the glare of the sodium lights that blazed down on the immense lower back deck. Tim recognized some of them on sight but didn’t know them. “Let’s get out of here,” George said.

  The others murmured agreement, and Tim tossed his hardly-touched glass of punch in the garbage can that had been set on the deck.

  Scott poked his head out, his attention directed to Chelsea. “Ditch those losers and come to my house. 143 Hemingway Drive. We’ll be chilling out in the living room.”

  “In your dreams,” Chelsea said, turning her back to him as she left with the guys.

  “Bitch,” Scott muttered, and the rest of what he said to his friends was drowned out as they hurried around the house and up the incline that led to the front yard. Tim felt an urgency to get in the car and get as far away from this party as possible. He was absolutely certain now that Scott was giving his marching orders to his crew: come on, guys, that little bitch turned me down, she’s following Count Gaines like a bitch in heat, we need to put her in her place just like we did with Tim back in sixth grade. He could definitely sense it, and he had a feeling the others could too. George and Al sprinted ahead of them to the car and Matt called out, “Chelsea and I parked right out front, we’ll follow you guys!” George acknowledged them and then they were in Al’s car, pulling away from the curb, making a U turn and heading out of the neighborhood. And as they passed the house, Tim saw Scott and his crew in the front yard, watching as they drove by. A moment later they moved as one solid unit toward a row of parked vehicles. Tim glanced in the rearview mirror, saw the twin headlights of Matt’s little Mazda behind them and he leaned forward from his position in the backseat. “Scott and his buddies are following us.”

  “Time to lose them,” Al said, accelerating quickly. Matt followed closely, and Tim held his breath as the chase commenced.

  Chapter Fifteen

  It had taken them all night, but they’d finally procured themselves some zombie food.

  Scott panted heavily. The others stood around the zombie food in a rough semi-circle of the guesthouse living room, out of breath from the struggle. Even Gordon had gotten in on the act. Earlier in the evening, Scott was becoming strongly of the opinion that Gordon was about to pussy out. He’d been pleasantly surprised when Gordon joined in enthusiastically, landing a few blows to Zombie Food’s kidneys. Zombie Food had not wanted to come to the house even through all the wining and dining they’d bestowed throughout the evening. In a way it had been like a courtship dance. The chance meeting at Susan Zimmerman’s party, the attempt at small-talk, casting the initial reel. And then of course there’d been the subtle jabs of insult from both parties, made in good humor, of course, but a ritual that had to be undertaken to let down their prey’s guard. To make Zombie Food think that things were normal.

  And it worked.

  Zombie Food had always been somewhat adversarial with them, even before tonight. The chance meeting at Susan’s was like destiny. They’d appealed to Zombie Food’s basic instincts, said all the right things and, before they knew it, Zombie Food was hanging out with them.

  Needless to say, Zombie Food was in the process of leaving the party with those that had delivered it to Susan’s house. In fact, it had almost gotten out of their collective grasp, but they’d chased it down, captured it, wined and dined it, and encouraged Zombie Food to stay. They’d brought Zombie Food back into Susan’s house and continued their courtship. They were determined to win Zombie Food over for the night.

  And at some point during the evening, they’d convinced Zombie Food to come over to Scott’s house. They’d made the suggestion earlier in the evening, but Zombie Food had rebuffed them in that condescending tone they knew so well. Scott and his friends laughed at this. Don’t be silly, was their refrain. We have much in common. We will have fun. You’ll see. We can bury the past, forge ahead and leave our differences behind us. What do you say?

  And somehow, it worked. They’d convinced Zombie Food to come with them, since it now lacked adequate transportation. They would provide transportation to Zombie Food’s home at the end of the evening, they said aloud while they were standing outside in a rough semi-circle in front of Susan’s house. Zombie Food did not have a car.

  Scott had grinned. “No problem,” he’d said. “We’ll get you home! Come with us!”

  And Zombie Food had gone with them.

  Once at the house they’d hung out in the living room and plied Zombie Food with booze. It turned out that Zombie Food liked to drink. In fact, Zombie Food’s beverage of choice was Jack and Coke, which Scott had. He served up the concoction from his parent’s liquor cabinet and retrieved beers for the rest of the guys as they sprawled in the family room on sofas and comfy chairs and relaxed. Zombie Food began to get drunk and they encouraged it to let loose. Zombie Food was among friends now! Zombie Food could relax.

  And Zombie Food did.

  An hour later, when Zombie Food was good and plastered and mouthing off about Spring Valley High’s Principal, who they all agreed was a colossal douchebag, Scott signaled the guys into action and they attacked. They swarmed over Zombie Food, kicking and punching, sending Zombie Food to the floor amid a flurry of blows that quickly put an end to Phase One.

  Scott glanced up at them, barely able to contain his enthusiasm. He grinned. “It’s feeding time!”

  He grabbed Zombie Food’s arm, and Dave grabbed the other arm. Steve and Gordon helped, and as a unit they led a bloodied Zombie Food out of the house, through the darkened back yard and to the guest house.
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  Zombie Food was out of it. Conscious, bleeding about the face and head, Zombie Food made semi-conscious moaning sounds. Scott unlocked the door to the guest house and they got Zombie Food inside, shutting the door behind them.

  Somebody turned on the light.

  The two zombies stood shackled in their corner, looking towards them. The younger zombie’s eyes raised in surprise. “Eeeehhhaa!” he bleated. The older zombie regarded them with that dead look in its remaining eye. A low rumble seemed to issue from deep in its chest. It was hard to get a read on what the zombies were thinking. Their dead faces were slack, expressionless. Could zombies bear expressions like surprise?

  Hate? Fear? They’d seemed fearful last time. Now it was hard to tell.

  “Got you some dinner, zombies!” David said, his voice a lilting sing-song.

  Steve chuckled. “You’re gonna like this one, guys. This fucker deserves it.”

  They let Zombie Food fall to the floor and stood over him, waiting for a reaction.

  From the moment he saw John Elfman at Susan Zimmerman’s party, Scott knew he was going to be the next one. John had been a thorn in their side since eighth grade.

  While Scott, Dave, and Steve all played various sports in school and in general had been on pretty friendly terms with the other jocks, John Elfman was the exception. John was a jock all the way, playing varsity football, basketball, and baseball. He was also on the track team. Sports were John’s life. Academically he was a C average student and that was generous. Personally, Scott thought John had all the intelligence of a piece of driftwood.

  The zombies stared at them, not even straining at their shackles to get at John.

  Dave sounded panicked. “Guys, if this doesn’t work—”

  “It’s gonna work,” Scott said, his adrenalin surging. “He’s like us. Remember what I told you on the way over to Susan’s?”