Brains

Jennifer dropped her doughnut. With sugary fingers she grabbed my arm.

‘No,’ she hissed, eyes widening. ‘Come on! We’ve just got here!’

The Cowboy was alone. He wore that same denim jacket. And – there – the hat. If anyone else had been wearing it, they’d have looked dumb. But not him. It transmitted a threatening authority. Already the hall’s conversation had dropped, simply because of the heavy vibes radiating from the man and his brim. Did he have a gun? Was there a gun under that jacket?

‘How’d he even know we were here? Maybe he’s got, like, spidey-sense.’

(I immediately regretted saying this.)

‘Okay, so this was always going to happen,’ said Jennifer, regaining control over herself. ‘Just act normal. Eat a doughnut. We’re zombies. He won’t recognise us. Maybe it’s a coincidence. Maybe he’s into horror movies.’

(Her left leg bounced with nervous energy.)

Without people on the opposite side of the table there was no hiding. It was like we were framed by the space, the emptiness inviting his attention to fall on us. I willed myself tiny. I’d apologise if he caught us.

‘What I did, sir, whatever that was, was wrong. And I’m really sorry.’

Sometimes, if you’re really apologetic, people don’t get that angry.

With narrow eyes the Cowboy inspected the hall. But … all he could see was the undead. He stepped a tentative snakeskin boot on to a bench and climbed up on to the table. A pair of zombies, drinking coffee, stared in disbelief. Doughnuts were suspended in mid-air, nobody dared chew. I tried not to stare at him but it was difficult to pull your eyes away.

‘Attention, zombies!’ he called. ‘Please! For one second!’ He didn’t need to repeat his request. ‘Jennifer Lewis, are you there? Answer me, sweetheart.’

His voice rumbled like thunder. Zombies looked to each other. The table groaned under the Cowboy’s feet as he shifted his weight. Jennifer and I, we bowed our heads and pretended to be fascinated by our doughnuts, sitting frozen. (But my heart was beating loud enough for her to hear, I’m sure.)

‘Just came in on a coach from Missouri. A boy and a girl. Runaways. Have you seen them? I’ve a wallet full of cash for anyone who has. You see, my employer is a very generous woman.’ He paused. The room murmured. ‘Call out if you’re here, kids. Or raise a hand. Surrender now and you’ll save yourself a great deal of trouble. Jacob? Jennifer? Help an old man.’

His eyes flashed across the space as someone brave called out, ‘Are you the police, sir?’

‘No,’ said the Cowboy and I’m sure he looked straight at us. ‘I’m the gentleman you sure don’t want to be running from. Thank you kindly for your time.’

He climbed down from the table. His footsteps echoed like gunshots as he strode to the exit. We watched him push back through the doors. When they swung closed behind him, it didn’t feel like victory. I’ll tell you what it did feel like: like defeat had been paused for Fate to put the kettle on.

‘Right,’ I said to Jennifer, swallowing my anxiety/doughnut. ‘So, that was close.’

‘Were you scared?’

‘I don’t know about scared. Just, you know, not whatever the opposite of scared is. Brave? Is brave the opposite of scared? I’m rambling,’ I said. ‘I do that.’

‘I’ve noticed. It makes you sound scared.’

‘I’m so not.’

‘You’re so British it’s unreal.’

The corpse make-up on her cheekbones only made her eyes shine the more intensely. I looked to the sugar that frosted the table. I didn’t want to argue.

‘I can’t believe I sang on the bus,’ I said quietly as I stared at the sugar, feeling again like all we were doing was running from an avalanche of trouble, a trouble avalanche. And the thing about avalanches is that they always catch you. Unless you’re in a helicopter or on a motorbike or …

‘The singing was savage.’ She shone a full-beam smile my way. ‘Jay, are you not enjoying this? We were sitting right in front of the Cowboy and he didn’t see us. We got away. The plan worked. So we’ll finish breakfast and we’ll sneak out the back and grab a bus or taxi or whatever to Tulsa. Don’t sweat it.’ She could see I was unsure. And I could see that her leg was still bouncing. ‘This is your origin story. You’re like—’

Words burst from me like water from a fire hose.

‘I’m no superhero. Please. And if I were, I’d be, like, Worry-Man. Because all this is going to end with me in massive trouble. I can feel it. I’m not enjoying myself. And if your wrist honestly hurts, you should go and see a doctor. Like the musical theatre person said. It’s not good. None of this is good. It’s bad. I’m a kid. It’s not the same for you. Maybe I am so British and that’s why you don’t understand.’ Pause. ‘Because you’re not.’ Jennifer looked confused. ‘British.’

‘I’ve kidnapped you, remember. You won’t get in trouble.’ The zombie closest to us looked over. Jennifer lowered her voice. ‘This is all new for me too. Straight up. When’s your movie happening? That’s the important thing, right?’

‘Tomorrow afternoon.’

It sounded impossibly close, California impossibly distant. For the first time missing it felt more likely than not.

Jennifer nodded out a response. ‘I can get us there by then. No problem. It’ll be as if nothing happened. Just a little detour. And as soon as we’re in LA, we split. My wrist does hurt but it’s just … it’s just … it’s more of an adventure when there’s two of us. A real adventure too. Like … Bonnie and Clyde. Or Batman and Robin.’

‘What about the Cowboy?’

‘He’s not caught us yet, has he?’

I stood from the table, brushing sugar from my top. I left her box next to the coffee.

‘I’m going to the toilet,’ I said. ‘And I don’t even know who Bonnie and Clyde are, by the way.’

(Obviously I did – they’re characters on that Cartoon Central show.)

‘Bathroom,’ she said. ‘Toilet sounds gross.’

Two thumbs up. Toothy smile. Even though I shook my head, I couldn’t stop a 25 per cent grin. I kind of hated Jennifer for it.

Maybe I’d ask her again what was in the box when I got back. Maybe she’d tell me now. Maybe I was enjoying myself.

(When I returned, she had vanished.)