Lipstick
Catoosa, Oklahoma

We passed a blue whale. Beached at a lake, its mouth was open to the shore. The thing was about 75 per cent realistic because whales can’t smile and even if they could, there was nothing about this one’s situation to make it happy: alone, far away from the ocean, misunderstood. Also, it looked like it was made from painted wood.

Maybe, once upon a time, it’d been travelling to Hollywood.

We were on Route 66, which used to be world-famous, according to Nicky. The coach slowed as the passengers raised their phones to the window. Jennifer wasn’t interested. She was too busy putting on make-up. Specifically zombie make-up. She’d borrowed a mirror and when she was done, she turned and asked what I thought. I gave a thumbs up. She looked terrible.

‘Your turn now,’ she said, thrusting a stick of lipstick at my face.

I edged further away, my back flush to the window.

‘I know what you’re thinking. Should she be wielding heavy lipstick with that wrist? Well, Jay, maybe I have made a big deal about it. But, you know what, maybe … I was worried that if you weren’t feeling guilty, you’d not stick around.’

I hadn’t expected that. I felt a weird warmth inside my chest. She lunged with the lipstick.

‘I don’t want to,’ I said, but smiling.

‘You must,’ she replied, smiling too. ‘Normal is not an option. We’re going to hide in plain sight. As zombies. That’s the plan.’

‘I thought the plan was getting to LA?’

‘Tulsa’s closer to LA than Chicago. Trust me.’

And then Nicky appeared at Jennifer’s shoulder, killing the smiles. She was good at appearing exactly when you didn’t want her.

‘Everything okay?’ she said. ‘You two hungry? I bet you are. I was thinking. There’s only brains on offer when we get to Catoosa. Ha! I’m joking, of course. I can get so kooky sometimes. You don’t have to eat brains. Here.’

She handed over two apples and a couple of packets of crisps.

Jennifer thanked her. ‘Just doing Jacob’s make-up,’ she said. ‘We don’t want to be arriving at the zombie walk not looking right.’

‘Brains,’ I said, and Jennifer rolled her eyes.

Nicky looked like she wanted to say something – I knew how she felt – but, instead, she wandered away. I let Jennifer have a go with the make-up. I was learning that it was easier to agree than put up a fight.

(Her face was really close to mine.)

The site of the zombie walk was a high-school sports ground. As the bus rolled into the complex, it was quickly obvious that PE in America was different from home. There was an actual stadium here with banked seats and everything. I think I’d end up a school refuser if they took sports this seriously in Somerset. As would the PE teachers.

Jennifer didn’t seem bothered. Maybe because she was American; she’d seen it all before. She wasn’t even that fussed about the ranks of emergency vehicles lining the entry road.

It was an avenue of four squad cars, two each side, four ambulances, two each side again, and two bright fire engines facing each other. Had the authorities brought their oldest operational vehicles to tie in with the zombie theme? Each one looked fifty years out of date and were so battered they seemed sad.

‘Loads of police, then,’ I said.

She nodded. ‘But if I were the type to worry, I’d worry about the Cowboy.’

‘Really?’

I hadn’t told her about what I thought I’d seen at the gas station. She’d launch a hundred questions I couldn’t answer. The coach swung into a lot lightly sprinkled with other vehicles. Its brakes hissed.

‘Where are the zombie hordes?’ asked Jennifer, frowning. ‘I thought this was meant to be a world record or something.’

‘We’re kinda early,’ said Nicky, swinging out of a seat and taking a sudden microphone from the driver’s outstretched hand. ‘Well, good morning, everyone. Rise and shine! As you can see, we’re here and we’re premature. But that’s fine cos there should be coffee somewhere, but I’d like us to all travel in one group if possible. You know the rules! Teamwork makes the dream work! LOL. So make sure you’ve your name stickers on and don’t go leaving any valuables behind. Because I’m a kleptomaniac! Joking, joking. But really – don’t leave any valuables. I’ve got to say farewell to our two runaways here and then I’ll see you outside shortly. Thanks, you guys.’ She made like she was handing the microphone back to the driver, then swept it back to her mouth. The speakers whined in protest as she screamed. ‘But before we go … one last “Time Warp”, people!’

‘Hold this,’ hissed Jennifer as she shoved the box into my chest. ‘Don’t talk, don’t sing, follow me. Closely.’

As Nicky conducted the choir with swinging arms, Jennifer stepped behind her and I followed. The group leader had her eyes closed in appreciation of the song’s beauty. We tiptoed past the driver, who was sitting with his head in his hands, his elbows balanced against the steering wheel. (I felt like if we were nice, we’d take him with us.)

The bus sang as if the lyrics were straight out of the Bible or something.

There was a huge red button on the dashboard. Underneath it was the word ‘exit’. Jennifer, no idiot, pushed it. Jumping from the bus, we headed away from the police and their cars. We rushed towards an American football pitch with the devil-horn goals and maybe half a dozen zombies meandering around. We travelled faster than any members of the undead had ever moved and continued to speed as we passed through a group of confused-looking (and decomposing) students.

‘Almost there,’ said Jennifer, checking over her shoulder that there were no jazz hands grasping for us.

Over the other side of the grass, in a corner between two stands, was a flat one-storey building. Outside this was, although not a crowd exactly, a gang of zombies. As we got closer, their Styrofoam cups, gripped tightly, came into focus.

We pushed through double doors, tumbling into a movie vision of a high-school canteen. It was the kind of place where jocks throw rotten apples at spotty geeks. Today, however, the plastic benches supported a threat of a different kind: zombies. And loads of them.

‘I think we made it,’ said Jennifer, out of breath in no way. She gestured at the space and the zombies. ‘Check this out.’

I managed to get two words out between two deep breaths.

‘Well … dench.’

Jennifer frowned. I’d not use that word again.

‘Say what?’

‘“Dench” means good.’

Her frown deepened like a rockfall.

‘Y’know, I’m beginning to understand why we fought a war to get rid of you guys.’

There was a zombie scrum at the far end of the hall fighting for free coffee and doughnuts rather than dead bodies.

‘Injured child coming through,’ called Jennifer and although it was a risky tactic what with us being suspected criminals on the run, the crowd parted. Jennifer was soon back with a paper plate of doughnuts.

We took a nearby bench, sitting shoulder to shoulder between two groups, with an uninterrupted view across the canteen and the doors leading outside.

And we’d not even had time to take a single mouthful of the frosted doughnuts, and, man, did they look good, before the doors swung open and in stepped the Cowboy.