My Life as A White Trash Zombie

As annoyed as I was at Kang and his no-more-info-for-you bullshit, the entire incident had clued me in to several hugely important facts. I was a zombie. I wasn’t crazy—or rather, not any more than I already was. There were other zombies around. And someone made me a zombie on purpose.

Which means I don’t need Kang, I thought smugly as I finished cleaning up the morgue and getting everything set out for the next shift. I can find me another zombie who’ll tell me what the hell is going on. Pompous jerk. Screw Kang. I didn’t need his help.

But that brought up the big question: How the hell could I tell if someone was a zombie? I didn’t know Kang was one until he told me. I’d known that Zeke was, but only because it was pretty damn obvious. In other words, probably the only way I’d be able to tell would be if someone was low on brains and starting to smell.

Great, so I simply needed to go around and sniff people to find the ones who smelled like rot and death. Yeah, that wouldn’t be weird at all.

There had to be other ways I could find out more about what I was facing, now that I knew for sure what I was. Hell, there were a zillion movies about zombies. Maybe there were some seeds of truth in all of that.

“Sure thing, babe. Sounds like fun. You’ll need to get some beer too. I’m almost out.”

“No problem,” I said, trying to keep the grimace out of my voice. Look at me, being all cheap because I didn’t want to buy beer that I wouldn’t drink. It was different with my dad. That was a survival tactic. But the DVD player at home had been busted for ages, and I couldn’t see spending the bucks on a new one since Randy had the latest technology. Besides, he had the big screen. “Be there in about half an hour.”

“Oh. Yeah, sure. Okay.” I found myself hesitating. Clive was who I usually got pills from. Or rather, who I used to get pills from. He and Randy went way back, and the three of us had hung out at Randy’s place before, though I’d never in a million years say that I was friends with Clive. It wasn’t that I disliked him or anything. It was just that . . . he was Clive. I bought drugs from him. I wasn’t gonna be best buds with him or anything.

I headed for the movie rental store and grabbed about half a dozen DVDs. There was probably no way we’d be able to watch them all in one night, but I wanted to have some variety to work with. A quick trip to the SpeedE Mart near Randy’s house for the beer and some too-greasy fried chicken, and I was ready to go.

Clive was on the couch with his feet on the coffee table and a rifle in his lap when I came in to the trailer. He wasn’t much taller than me, but he probably outweighed me by about a hundred pounds—and none of that was fat. He spent several hours a day in the gym, and it was pretty obvious to anyone with eyes that Clive was as serious about his steroids as he was about his workouts.

“Hey, Clive. How’s it goin’?” I said. I dropped the DVDs onto the table, then pushed aside some engine parts to make room for the beer. “What’s with the gun?”

“Deer season starts this weekend.” He accompanied this statement with a withering look as if to say I was less of a person for not knowing this. “Finishing cleaning up my baby here,” he said, giving the gun a caress.

“These are all zombie movies,” Randy said, looking up from the pile of DVDs with a puzzled look on his face. “What’s up with that?”

“Zombies are cool,” Clive announced from the couch. I looked at him, waiting for further commentary, but apparently that was the extent of Clive’s opinion on the matter.

I reached up and felt the Band-Aid. “Oh. I was in a wreck the other night in the coroner van. I only had a cut. Didn’t even need stitches. It’s no big deal.”

He frowned, but Clive suddenly twisted to look at me. “That was you?” Clive asked. “I heard someone totaled the CO van.”

Clive shrugged. “Well, I heard about it at the gym from Emily—the receptionist, who heard about it from her sister, Edith, who’s dating Keith, who drove the wrecker that picked the van up. So, no, I think everyone’s heard about it by now.” Then he grinned and nodded toward Randy. “Except for him. He needs to get out more.”

I shook my head. “It wasn’t bad at all. I mean, yeah, the van went on its side, but I was wearing my seat belt. It’s no big deal.” I didn’t answer his second question. I had no idea why I hadn’t called him. It hadn’t even occurred to me. He’s my boyfriend, isn’t he? “I didn’t want to worry you,” I finally said in an echo of my response to my dad. It was just as lame this time, too.

“Nope. It wasn’t my fault. Some dickwad pulled a tree out into the highway, and I hit it.”

“Hunh. That sucks.” He popped open his beer, then glanced at the Coke in my hand. “You’re not drinking?”

I resisted the urge to sigh. “C’mon, don’t hassle me. I had the wreck only a few days ago. I can’t get into any more trouble.”

“Yeah,” I said, picking at the label on the Coke bottle. “It’s a good job. I’m trying not to fuck it up, y’know?”

“Leave her alone, Randy,” Clive said with a wink to me. “She’s being good. She has a sweet gig and doesn’t want to blow it.”

The way he said it was odd, as if he was trying to share some inside joke with me. If so, I didn’t get it, and I didn’t feel like getting it, so I let it slide.

“Just as long as she doesn’t turn into some sort of Goody Two-shoes,” Randy muttered. He must have seen the hurt expression on my face because he leaned over to kiss me on the forehead. “I’m kidding, Angel. I know you’re cool.”

Now I understood. Or at least I thought I did. He was afraid that if I stopped with the drugs and the booze, I’d be on him to stop, too. “Yeah, I’m cool. C’mon, now, put one of the movies in.” I handed him the one on top without even looking to see which one it was. I didn’t care. I simply wanted this weird conversation to end.

I thought he was going to say something else, but to my relief he simply turned away and stuck the DVD into the player. I plopped down onto the couch, leaving room for Randy in the middle, then did my best to tune the world out and learn about zombies.

Five hours later I knew a lot more about the movie versions of zombies, and not a damn thing that would help me in my own situation. All the zombies in the movies were the enemy—mindless creatures that wanted to kill and eat flesh and brains. There were still two more DVDs in the stack, but I couldn’t face the thought of watching them. Too depressing. This isn’t me, I told myself. That’s not what I am.

Clive and Randy were still watching the end of the third movie—one of the George Romero flicks. Or at least that’s what I thought it was. I’d lost track. I glanced at the clock: One A.M.

“Nah,” I said. “I need to be up early.” It sounded weak, and Randy sighed and rolled his eyes.

“C’mon, Angel, stay,” Clive said without taking his eyes from the screen. He was enjoying the movies way too much—cheering loudly every time a zombie got dispatched. I knew that was the point of these movies—humans overcoming the zombie menace—but, gee, for some reason it was beginning to get under my skin. “Besides,” he continued, “your man here needs some hot lovin’, and I ain’t about to give it up for him.”

Yeah, well, I wasn’t about to give Randy any hot lovin’ with Clive around. About a year ago Clive had made a joke about me doing both him and Randy at the same time—the kind of joke that wasn’t really a joke if I’d even hinted at being willing to go for it. Which I wasn’t. At all.

I tried to think of a nasty-funny comeback, but I was too worn out to come up with anything. “I need to go,” I told Randy, ignoring Clive’s bark of laughter. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

I kept the smile fixed on my face. No biggie. Yeah, that was us. I collected the movies we’d already watched and headed out. I didn’t ask Randy to walk me out to my car, and he didn’t offer. I left to the sound of Clive yelling encouragement as zombies died on the screen.