WHEN I WAS A STUPID LITTLE KID, LIKE TEN OR SO, I had this huge crush on Johnny Depp. Not regular Johnny Depp, because he’s old and kinda douchey with the whole pretentious French thing. Captain Jack Sparrow. In fourth-grade art class I made a Captain Jack puppet out of a brown paper bag, those stick-on plastic eyes, and lots of felt scraps cut to look like his wild goatee and sexy/crusty hair. I used to sleep with this puppet and practice kissing on it and defend it from my brother, Kyle, who used to chase me around with scissors.
Aww.
So lame, right? Hold on. It gets worse.
I used to write Life Goals on scraps of paper and shove them inside puppet Jack Sparrow’s paper-bag body. I actually wrote Life Goal on each one. I don’t remember the specifics. Mostly, they were names of places I’d seen in magazines and wanted to travel to someday, possibly with the real Jack Sparrow because I was an idiot and thought that was a thing that could happen. They all had a basic unifying theme.
LIFE GOAL: get the fuck out of New Jersey.
Mission accomplished.
Eventually I got over Jack Sparrow, more interested in guys made out of flesh and blood, although in Captain Jack’s defense, what he lacked in arms he made up for in not saying dumb shit all the time. Even grown-up, I couldn’t throw him out. He was too important to me. I hid him underneath my mattress in a small box with Dad’s postcards from the joint and pictures of Penelope (my mother, who I’ve referred to by her first name since I caught her drunkenly flirting with some of my friends at a party she’d “allowed” me to throw) when she was young/hot. He’d be safe there, I assumed.
After school one day, while I was downstairs listening to Penelope bitch about something, my so-called friend Cindy St. Clair discovered Captain Jack in his box while she was snooping under my bed, probably looking for dildos, the dumb slut. I came upstairs to find my secret Life Goals scattered on the floor and Jack Sparrow shoved onto an unfamiliar hand, making loud donkey noises because Cindy claimed I had big teeth. I vowed on that day to destroy her socially, and a couple years later she was the first person I ate when I turned into a zombie.
That might have been an overreaction.
You think?
Captain Jack went in the garbage after his defilement by Cindy. I didn’t stop thinking up Life Goals, though. Considering how my desire to escape lame New Jersey had come true in a roundabout, messed-up way after marinating in the belly of Jack Sparrow, maybe it was time to make a new puppet. Because I was having trouble figuring out what to do next.
LIFE GOAL: find Jake.
LIFE GOAL: stop being a smelly/ugly zombie.
LIFE GOAL: start over.
I stood at the edge of the firelight, gazed out over the darkened farmland, and missed him. I know, right? Like I was one of those stupid lighthouse maidens gazing out to sea waiting for her ship-captain husband to return home. (Enough with the pirates already.) It’d only been a couple days and he talked way too much and was half-retarded and it shouldn’t have felt like such a big deal. But it was. I’d felt different since we unzombied in that parking lot. Like I could finally be myself.
Turns out, the you that eats people is the truest version of yourself.
Since I’d been with Jake, I didn’t worry so much about what Dad called the angles. I didn’t care about how every little thing would reflect on me, what other people would see, how they’d use my actions against me. I didn’t look at every interaction as a stepping stone to something better. Yeah, maybe a certain amount of social burdens had been stripped away when I’d eaten all my important peers. But something else had changed too. I liked who I was when I was around Jake and I wanted that back. I wanted our easy rhythm back. I wanted us to be all right. I wanted—
Okay, stop thinking about him.
Behind me, the campfire crackled as Cody poked it with a branch.
“I don’t think she’s coming back,” he said, interpreting my distance gazing as keeping watch for that snotty psychic sucker-puncher.
“She better not,” I said quietly.
Ooohhhh.
The smell of Cody’s bonfire reminded me of the burnt odor my skin had been giving off earlier. The blistered, gray electrical burn on my chest had healed with the help of one of our last guinea pigs, yet the smell still lingered on in my brain. A shame stench. I wouldn’t be letting that one go anytime soon. I’d let my guard slip and Cass had gotten away. She was my only surefire way of finding Jake and now she was gone, leaving me stranded here in shit creek with no clear course of action. I never trusted her; should’ve never let Jake guilt me into being civil. Who knows what nefarious shit that little government lackey was up to now. I hoped the ghouls got her.
Forget about Cass. You don’t need her. Start thinking about the angles again. That’s more you.
I sighed and joined Cody at his bonfire. It made sense he wouldn’t want to stay in the bomb shelter after the mess he’d made in there, but if I had my way, we’d be spending the night in the adjoining house. Cody didn’t want to do that either, spouting some shit about respect for the dead. He’d been brooding/sulking all day until he found out I had camping equipment in the car.
Even during his whole glum woe is me, I’m a zombie period, Cody’s eyes had been on me pretty much nonstop. I was used to that. At least he was handsome and polite, qualities that in my experience very rarely went hand in hand, but maybe they did things different out in the country. He looked eager to talk, his eyes all moony with need, and I realized maybe I’d done too good a job comforting him after he first turned zombie. He looked all attached. Wasn’t going to happen, duder.
But he is really, really good-looking. And strong. He’ll make for a great zombie partner, don’t you think? He’ll be useful. He’s your type.
I caught myself staring at him. Cody smiled at me with his perfect white teeth. He’d changed out of his bloody clothes and into a clean pair of jeans and form-fitting blue T-shirt. He reminded me a little of Chazz, actually, but with all the rough edges sanded off. Here was a guy who wouldn’t just park his Camaro on the curb and lay on the horn. My man would come in and introduce himself to Mom.
“I love the outdoors,” Cody said. “It feels so natural out here.”
“Cool,” I replied. I mean, it was a nice night, but we didn’t need to talk about it.
“You like camping?” he asked me.
“Um, no,” I replied.
Too harsh. Be nicer.
“I mean, I’ve never really been before,” I clarified.
“Gosh, I miss it,” Cody said, shaking his head. “I used to go every other weekend before all this.”
“Yeah, you really know your way around building a fire.”
I hadn’t really meant it as a compliment—who cares about building fires? We aren’t cavepeople anymore—but Cody beamed from ear to ear like I’d just pinned a blue ribbon on his prize sow or whatever. Iowans.
He’s sweet, though. And wouldn’t it come in handy to have a partner who knows how to do things not involving video games? Practical, real-world skills that might keep you alive? Think about the possibilities. The angles.
“What else can you do?” I asked him suddenly, then immediately rephrased the question. “I mean, um, what else do you like to do?”
He thought about this. “I used to race cars,” he replied.
“Like, street racing?”
“Lord, no.” Cody laughed. “Amateur circuit. Stock cars.” He looked at me, trying to gauge my interest. “Some figure eight, that’s the most dangerous thing I’ve done. No street racing.”
“Figure eight?”
“The track shape,” Cody said, drawing an eight in the air with a flaming stick.
“Don’t you crash?”
“Not if you’re good,” he replied, and shot me a wink that was more cheeseball than lecherous, yet still violated my strict prohibition on winking and/or eyebrow wiggling.
Oh, come on. He’s charming.
And yet, I couldn’t help laughing a little. I covered my mouth, surprised at myself.
Think about the possibilities. You hotwire cars. He drives them really fast. You’d make a good team. Probably have the cure locked up in no time. He’s an upgrade, all around.
I felt strange. Maybe it was the smoke and heat from the fire. I stood up, walked around to the other side, and sat down next to Cody. It was better over here, I guess.
“Are you cold?” Cody asked.
“I’m sitting in front of, like, a raging fire,” I replied.
But maybe you’re a little cold. Just a chill.
“Okay,” I admitted. “Kinda.”
Cody stood up and unzipped one of the sleeping bags. Gently, he draped it around my shoulders, and then sat down even closer than before. One of his arms lingered around my shoulder, like he was making sure the sleeping bag would stay put. Sure. That old move.
“Uh—” I started to draw myself up, ready to unman this presumptuous hick.
Oh, stop. It’s nice. Comforting. Feel those muscles.
“Is this okay?” he asked uncertainly.
“Yeah,” I replied without much conviction.
We sat there in silence, watching the fire flicker and snap. It didn’t feel right—being under this blanket, this random dude’s arm around me. I couldn’t quite figure how I’d gotten into this position. I kept meaning to stand up, to brush him off, but something stopped me.
It’s insta-love. Just go with it.
Cody sighed contentedly.
“You know, I spent the last year running for my life,” he mused. “Trying not to get eaten. Sleeping underground. Keeping quiet. Hiding. Watching everyone I know get eaten or . . . change.”
“Uh-huh,” I replied, only half listening.
“I would’ve never dreamed I could have something like this again,” he continued. “Jeez, something simple like making a fire, that would’ve been unthinkable. The ghouls would get us for sure.”
He looked around. Nothing moved out there in the darkened fields.
“I don’t know what I was running from all that time,” he said, almost like he was trying to talk himself into this new life. “It’s better, being one of you.”
I tensed up. I didn’t even want to be one of me.
Take it easy. He’s new. He’ll see it your way, eventually. They always do, right?
“It isn’t always like this,” I replied without any heat.
“No.” He shot a surreptitious glance in the direction of the unmarked graves. “Guess it couldn’t be.”
“It can be all right, sometimes. . . .” I thought about the long stretches on the road with Jake, how we—
Nope. Forget him. He abandoned you. Screwed you over, just like Chazz.
Focus on Cody.
“If you’ve got someone with you.” I finished my thought and pinched the bridge of my nose. My head hurt. The smoke again, probably.
Cody reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, even though it wasn’t really in my face or anything. At some point, we’d inched even closer together.
“I can tell you’ve been through a lot,” Cody said gravely, all overwrought with sympathy for me. Normally, I would’ve rolled my eyes at a come-on that half-assed. Not this time. Dopey sincerity—that’s exactly what I wanted.
I found myself nodding and staring down at the ground between our feet—like, Yes, I’ve been through so much and it’s painful to even think about. Rescue me with your powerful arms and strongly felt feelings, handsome man.
Cody lifted my chin with his index finger.
“I hope this isn’t forward,” he started, peering into my eyes, “but I’ve been thinking a lot since I turned and I’ve decided, um, YOLO, you know.”
YOLO. Isn’t he dreamy?
“But, jeez, I like you, Amanda. I think we could make a go of it, being zombies. We could go to Des Moines and find the others. Try to make the best of it. If you’d want to do that. With me.”
Me and my boyfriend were on our way to Des Moines, I almost said.
But you don’t have a boyfriend.
So many things were wrong with this hick’s proposal: We just met. This crush of his only blossomed because (1) I’m hot, and (2) he seems like the type to get easily attached. He’s got some kind of savior/mother/girlfriend complex going on because I gave him that stupid pep talk after his first undead experience and told him that eating all those people wasn’t his fault (which it wasn’t, but get over it already, move on). He’s used to having someone to protect and he’s just stumbled into this new un-life and is flailing for direction and . . .
Don’t think about it. You should just . . .
I kissed him. He seemed a little surprised. Hell, I seemed surprised. But it wasn’t a bad kiss. Not too much tongue. A real gentleman, all the way. Then we were falling backward in the sleeping bag, his arms curling tightly around me. Kissing with more heat.
There. Isn’t that better?
And part of me knew that I shouldn’t be doing this—didn’t even want to do it, actually—but I shut that part away. I couldn’t quite grasp why this was wrong. I couldn’t think of a reason why I shouldn’t hook up with this beautiful new zombie, in front of this romantic fire he’d built with his own hands, under the stars.
It’s perfect, isn’t it?
Yes.
This way, everybody’s happy.