Dawn of the Jed (9 page)

Anna’s questions kept coming.

“Did he have a collar?”

“No.”

“Had you ever seen him before?”

“Not until he took on a car and lost.”

“Are you sure he was really dead and not just knocked out?”

“Hmm, let me think about that. Broken bones, not breathing, absolutely no reaction when beef jerky was waved under his nose. OK, I didn’t do that last one, but the real kicker? He was hit by a freakin’ car. It all added up to one very dead dog.”

“Did it occur to you that maybe it was dead, like, before?”

“No. Really? That’s the best you’ve got?”

“Did you look for the owner?”

“Absolutely. I went door to door. ‘Hello sir or madam, is this your dead dog that’s following me? I will assume by your screaming it’s not. Have a good day.’”

“Do you always have to be so freaking sarcastic?” Anna asked. “This is probably someone’s dog.”

“Yeah. Mine.”

Anna looked down and shut her eyes. She stayed like that for a minute. Two. A bit of Ooze broke out on my forehead. I always Ooze when nervous. And right then, I was very nervous.

I reached over and slipped my hand under Anna’s. She pulled back at my touch, her eyes snapping open. She gave me the kind of look no one ever wants to see from someone they trust.

Fear. Her eyes accused me of being a monster.

Then it was gone. Most of it anyway.

“Jed, I’ve gotten to know you pretty well.” She leaned toward me, took my hand. “I like you. I know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt anyone. Intentionally. He is a cool dog, I can see that. But how he came to be, that he just followed you home. I’m not sure … I just … it seems Tread … ”

Tread sat up from his dog bed at the sound of his name.

“I’m not sure what to think,” Anna said. “It’s like you have some sort of power you never knew about. Or something.”

I squeezed her hand, resisting the urge to give her a strong hug because I did not want to feel her pull away.

“I know, I’m weirded out by all this too,” I said. “I have no idea what happened. One second I’m crying over a dog I’d never seen before, the next I’ve done something that probably even PETA would frown on. But if I keep thinking about it, I’m going to drive myself crazy. I have to learn from it and move on.”

“Learn from it?”

“I know for sure I can’t turn anyone into zombies. If I could, Mom and Dad would have been members of the walking dead from the moment they changed my first diaper. Dad said he learned to duck because I went off like Old Faithful. Over the years, I’ve drooled on people, bled on kids, even spread the Ooze around a little bit. Last time I looked, we’re not under the threat of a zombie apocalypse. So I’m not worried about that. But … ”

“Yes? But what?”

“Maybe I have to be careful around dead things. At least freshly dead things.”

“You think that’s why this happened? Because Tread was dead?”

“I think so. In fact, I’m almost positive. So I have to take precautions.”

“Like what?”

I let a sly smile slip.

“Watch myself around the recently expired. Make sure I don’t drip any Ooze anywhere after the exterminator leaves, or else we’re deep in ants and cockroaches again.”

“Jed—”

“No trips to the meat section at the supermarket. A little Ooze there, and veal chops are finally going to get the revenge they’ve always wanted.”

“Really?”

“I was thinking about opening a side business. ‘Lost your pet to the Grim Reaper? Take it to Jed. Your dog or cat will be more than undead. They’ll be fundead! The death of any party!’”

There it was, that smile I’d been hoping far. Anna laughed and punched my arm.

“This is not really a big deal when you think about it,” I continued, noticing the look in Anna’s eyes. “Wait, let me finish. All the conditions were right. A dog that died just seconds ago. A zombie kid with some odd chemical compound that somehow plays a part in keeping him sort-of alive, dripping that compound on a freshly dead dog. And let’s not forget the zombie kid really wanted a dog.”

“So you’re thinking there’s a little bit of wishing that went on too? Because that’s pretty out there.”

“I brought a dead dog back to life. As far as I’m concerned, there is no such thing as too out there.”

Anna nodded. More importantly, she was still holding my hand.

“It’s still freaky, Jed,” she said. “I’m assuming this Tread incident has something to do with you and Luke not being on the best of terms?”

I thought back to when I saw Luke’s face as Tread first began to twitch. It hit me what that look was. The same one Anna had given me a few minutes ago.

Fear.

“Anna,” I said, letting go of her hand. “Are you, you know. Are you, uh … ”

“What? Spit it out. Whatever you need to ask, I’ll answer.”

“I need you to promise you’ll tell me the truth.”

“Always, Jed. What is it?”

“Are you scared of me?”

Anna looked down. I hated that. That never meant good news. I shut my eyes, bracing for the worst.

Then her hand slipped under mine.

“No, I’m not.”

I opened my eyes and looked up. This time Anna’s look told me one thing. She was being honest. I could feel it.

“It’s still weird,” Anna said, leaning down to pet Tread, who’d fallen asleep. “I’ll admit that. But I think I know you pretty well. And you’re right, you can’t turn people into zombies. This was just one of those things, I guess.”

I took a deep breath, which I rarely do because oxygen is not on a zombie’s “must have” list. But I found that every now and then, I would take on a human tendency, like taking a deep breath to relieve tension. It worked, most times.

“Thanks, I can’t tell you how much that means to me,” I said. “Now, you think you can talk to Luke? He’s definitely not OK with what happened.”

“Sorry, that’s between you two,” Anna said. “Besides, you and I have something to deal with. This anti-zombie flyer. But it’s getting late, and I’ve got to be home soon. Meet me early before school in the quad. Let’s see if we can figure this out.”

We headed out of the bedroom, Tread right on our heels as we went down the steps.

“Anna, thanks for being in my corner,” I told her as I opened the front door. “I thought this semester might be easier. Now I’m not so sure.”

She gave me a peck on the cheek, and if zombies blushed, I did it right then.

“No worries, Jed. You still have a lot of friends. We just have to come together and figure out who your enemies are.”

“Do you know the combination?” Anna asked as I spun the dial.

“Yeah. And running into Robbie when I’m still sort of sleepy makes for a very bad combination.”

“Not what I meant.”

“I know.”

I kept working the lock, more out of anger than trying to open the dang locker. I hated using my left hand, which I needed only for tasks requiring both arms. Tying shoes, buttoning shirts, that kind of thing. I left the important stuff to my right arm. Eating. Throwing stuff. Holding Anna’s hand.

I would give my right arm to have my right arm. Except my right arm was inside this locker I was attempting to open. My limb and I were separated by a flimsy bit of sheet metal made stronger over the decades by forty-seven layers of battleship-gray paint. Seriously, did any middle school built after 1980 even have lockers? Between laptops and tablets and smartphones, my workload comes down to about three pounds and fits easily in my backpack. The only thing in my own locker is a 1953 brochure called “You and Wood Safety: Staying Sharp Around Sharp Tools” handed out by Mr. Anderson, the Woodshop teacher. (“You will take this home. You will memorize it. It will one day save your life.”)

Even worse, I had no idea who owned this locker. If anyone did.

“Jed, isn’t it a bit too early to be a victim again?” Anna said as she unzipped my backpack and started digging for the necessary items to put the arm back in place. Assuming I’d get this locker open.

“Ya think?” I pounded the locker with my left fist, not even making a dent. My right arm was probably laughing.

“OK, sorry, I know how much this sucks,” Anna said as I felt her continue to rummage. “I’ve got duct tape, but no staple gun.”

“You won’t find it because it’s not in there,” I said. “Principal Buckley sent us a letter over break. It had come to his attention I carried a weapon, and due to Pine Hollow’s zero-tolerance policy toward the packing of stapling heat, that gun would no longer be allowed on campus.”

“That does that, then,” Anna said, zipping my backpack shut. “I’ll make sure to wrap the tape extra tight.”

“That’s fine, except there is still the small detail that my arm is in there, and I am out here.” I pulled my left hand back but stopped in mid-slam, the futility settling in.

“So how did you set off Robbie this time?”

“The real question is, what the hell was Robbie doing here at seven fifteen? The guy is so unfamiliar with morning, he can’t even point to where the sun comes up, let alone that we call that direction ‘east.’”

True story. Robbie arrived about five minutes after the first bell. It was as if he was the only student issued a hall pass on a permanent basis.

I summed up the experience for Anna. I’d arrived early, just as we’d planned the night before. Maintenance had just opened the front gate, and as I walked into the quad—a spacious courtyard serving as the home of the Eighth Grade Lawn, named after the only students allowed to walk on its surface—I expected to be the day’s first arrival.

But I was the second. Robbie leaned against the water fountain just inside the gate.

Last semester, Robbie was never alone. He was always flanked by Ben and Joe, making for the Tiresome Trio. If Robbie was the CEO of Don’t Cross Me Enterprises, Ben and Joe were heads of the Whatever You Say, Robbie Division. But this semester, Ben and Joe weren’t as obvious. On a bully sabbatical, perhaps.

I was pretty sure the football game had something to do with it. When it was over, Ben and Joe shook my hand without trying to pull it off. I will take begrudging respect anytime.

Robbie, on the other hand (when I had another hand), still despised me. Some things never changed.

I didn’t even know Robbie was at school until something tapped my chest. Looking down, I saw half a cigarette smoldering by my feet. I looked up, and there was Robbie, in my face. He was there so often I should’ve been charging him rent.

It was the usual scintillating one-sided conversation. “How goes the deadness today? Love the scent, is that Eau de Autopsy? Loosen up Jed, you look a little stiff.”

Blah blah blah. The usual script had Robbie tossing me over his shoulder and dumping me in the next available trash can. Then he ad-libbed. He put out his hand.

“You know, just because I’m the bully and you are the bully-ee doesn’t mean we can’t get along.”

Too tired to do anything but go along, I watched as my hand was swallowed by Robbie’s, felt a quick shake before the yank that nearly threw me to the ground.

Crap.

“My arm?” I said. “Really? That’s what this has come to now?”

Robbie held my right arm, sheared at the shoulder. I knew what he was going to say, mouthing the words as he spoke them.

“You should know better than to be unarmed.”

He turned and entered A Hall, the door clicking behind him. I could have followed. Instead, I pictured the way it would normally turn out. I would plead, and having no effect, I would finally decide to stand up against him. By that time, of course, I was already upside-down in a trash can, or stuffed into a display case, or tossed into the Dumpster behind the cafetorium, ears ringing from the clang of the lid slamming down.

Instead, I waited. In a few minutes, Robbie returned. Inches from my face, he said softly, “Locker 249. Have a nice day.”

“With that, he walked across the Eighth Grade Lawn and disappeared between D and E Halls,” I told Anna. “That was about fifteen minutes ago. Now here I am, in front of locker 249, attempting to retrieve what was lost.”

“Sorry. I just wish—”

“I know, Anna. No big deal. I just want to get my arm back. That’s all.” The tone in my voice told her not to fight me on this one.

I twirled the dial hopelessly. The only thing to do was wait for the owner—if the locker had an owner—and get my arm then. That meant thirty more minutes of waiting.

“How did Robbie get this open?” Anna asked.

Some kids believed Robbie had a master list of locker combinations, used to carry out dirty deeds for Principal Buckley. Like when Rod Baxter, self-proclaimed underachiever, was voted class president after he ran on the “D is a Passing Grade” ticket. The next day, a surprise inspection of Rod’s locker revealed copies of several upcoming tests. Since when does a student who is very happy being marginal start copying tests? Only the Mona Lisa had a better frame job.

I’m not sure I bought into conspiracy theories, but it made me think now.

“Maybe he really does have that list,” I said. “How much would that suck?”

“All the way to graduation day. But seeing as how we have time to kill, why don’t we discuss this apparent anti-zombie movement? That’s why we came in early anyway.”