Book of the Dead (15 page)

The mayor smiled politically. “You folks probably saw the news shows tonight. Both Denver and Albuquerque are in pretty bad shape. But fortunately for people out in the sticks like us, the zombies don’t drive much.”

“
Somebody
got here and wiped out Eventide Manor.”

The mayor looked as if he were strenuously attempting to think on his feet. “Maybe it was a virus or something.” He shrugged. “Something in the air or the food we been getting—”

“Not a good move,” said Bobby Mack, voice low. “He’s just blowing smoke. Zombies can’t infect you by sneezing or letting you use their towels. They’ve got to bite you.”

Martha shivered and laid her hand across his.

The room started to dissolve into chaos. People shouted questions and opinions, paying no attention to the mayor’s gavel. “Let’s get out of here,” said Bobby Mack. He kept hold of her hand and led her toward the door.

Martha saw stares following them, appraising expressions. Neither of the Crump men was smiling. Nor was the priest or the pastor and his wife. They hate me, she thought, somewhat startled by the epiphany. They want me, but they hate me too.

Outside, the chill night air took away the sweat and the stale cigar smoke. There was no need out here for them to hold hands, but they did it anyway. About halfway across the parking area, Bobby Mack let loose of her fingers and trotted on ahead.

“Hey! What the hell are you guys doing?”

When Martha caught up to him, she realized that Bertie Hernandez and his cronies were having some fun.

“We’re havin’ a tailgate party,” said Bertie. “What’s it look like? That we’re stringin’ us up a zombie?”

That was, indeed, what it looked like. Billy, Miguel, Shine, and the rest were gathered around Bertie’s jacked-up old red Chevy pickup. The truck was parked under the elms. The tailgate was down, and on it stood a thoroughly bound man Martha didn’t recognize. But then he would have been hard to identify in any case. One ear dangled freely, barely attached to a tattered strip of gray skin. Dark liquid hissed and frothed from ragged lips. Several twists of shiny barbed wire, wound around his head the long way, from crown to jaw, kept the man’s mouth shut.

Bertie saw them both looking at the wire. “Gotta keep him from biting. This here’s a zombie,
comprende
?”

“You’re going to lynch him?” said Bobby Mack. “That’s murder.”

“Gotta be alive to be a murder,” said Shine Willis, grinning.

“Mutilating a corpse, then,” said the deputy.

“Come on, Bobby Mack, get off it,” said Bertie. “You know as well as me that there ain’t no laws at all protecting these things. It isn’t like they’re endangered species or whatever. They just gotta die, that’s all.”

“Who—who is he?” said Martha.

“The guy who got to the old folks’ home,” said Bertie. “I guess he was the one who was supposed to deliver the butt paper and towels. From the Springs, probably. Me and the boys went up to the home to check it out after lunch. We found this guy down in the basement munching down the last of Doctor Jellico’s feet. There were pieces of some of the other people in the home too.”

“He was a fag,” said Shine.

Martha and Bobby Mack stared at Shine.

He shrugged. “Dunno really. But all the bodies he’d been chewin’ on were men. Let the ladies go after he killed ’em. That’s why they were all down to the Diner.”

“Enough of this shit,” said Bertie. “Bobby Mack, you gonna interfere, or can we get on with it?”

“I guess the governor says you can kill him if you burn him. But hanging’s not going to do any good, is it?”

“It is,” said Bertie, “when you use piano wire for the noose.” He banged on the Chevy’s fender. The driver gunned the engine, then popped the clutch. The truck lurched forward, leaving the zombie kicking.

With the creature’s weight, it didn’t take but for a few seconds before the wire loop twanged into a knot and the zombie’s head and body took separate falls. The head bounced a few feet away, the eyes blinking. Miguel Espinosa gave it a hard rap with an irrigation shovel.

“Hey, Martha,” said Bertie. “You still want to go on over to Walsenburg with me tonight?”

“I never said I wanted to go.”

Bertie walked over to stand in front of them. “You gonna go out for a ride in the deputy’s rice-burner?”

“I’m going to give her a ride home,” said Bobby Mack.

“See that’s the only ride you give her.”

“Bertie—” Martha started to say.

“I mean it.” Bertie showed a toothy smile. “It’s the best for you or nothing, you know?”

“Go burn your corpse,” said Bobby Mack. The two men stared at each other. Bertie lowered his eyes first.

Over beneath the tree, the men were playing kickball with the head.

Bobby Mack took Martha home the long way. “Probably shouldn’t use the gas,” he said. “Don’t know when the tankers’ll stop coming here. But I don’t want to call it a night yet.”

“Me neither,” said Martha. The Samurai had bucket seats, but she did her best to lean into his shoulder.

They drove south, almost to the New Mexico line, stopping short and turning around when they saw the police flashers and the leaping flames from something burning on the road.

“It’s either their state patrol or ours,” said Bobby Mack. “I’m off duty. I figure they’ve got it under control, whatever it is. Those boys have firepower.”

He drove north again, taking the county road south of Fort Durham that wound into the hills to the west of town. Headlights, one out of adjustment and too bright, paced them. Bobby Mack squinted at the glare, then pulled off on a hilltop turnout to let the other vehicle by. A black Ford quarter-ton roared past. “Looks like Billy Gaspar,” Bobby Mack said. “Wonder what the heck he’s doing up here?” The sound of the truck diminished.

They stayed in the Samurai and looked down at Fort Durham’s scattered lights.

“It always looks bigger at night,” Martha said.

“Lot of things do. I guess that’s why most folks think the dark’s scary. When I was a kid, I used to wake up in the summer around three, four in the morning. I’d set a mental alarm. Then I’d sneak out of the house and just explore around the ranch. The greatest thing was the milk cows. They’d be just standing there in the moonlight, big and quiet and warm.”

Martha looked sidelong at him. “There weren’t any zombies then.”

“Not here, at least. I expect there were the first zombies, back down in Jamaica or wherever they come from.”

“Radio says these aren’t the same thing. I was listening to NPR—”

“You listen to public radio?” He sounded surprised, yet pleased. “Me too.”

“I’m not stupid, Bobby Mack. Yes, I was listening to NPR. They had a voodoo priest on who was really mad about his people being blamed for the zombies.”

“Can’t say as I’d blame him.”

She hugged herself. “I don’t want to talk about zombies.”

“It’s pretty much all anybody’s gonna want to discuss for a while. Biggest thing to happen in this town since I don’t know when.”

A long minute went by.

“Bobby Mack, do you ever think about getting out of here? Going somewhere else?”

“I did that,” he said. “I went away to college.”

She laughed, but gently. “A couple hundred miles to Fort Lewis College in Durango isn’t a long way.”

“You didn’t say
long
way.”

“You know what I meant.”

After a while, he said, “I don’t know if I’d like it anywhere else.”

“I know what you mean.” Martha unhugged herself. “But sometimes I wonder what it would be like to find out.”

“To go to California or something,” he said, “it’d get lonely if you were by yourself.”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “I get lonely right here.”

He sounded surprised. “You were always the prettiest girl around. Lonesome?”

“You don’t know much about me, do you?”

“Reckon I was scared to find out,” he said.

“No reason for that.” Martha gently touched the side of his face. “No reason at all.”

He shrugged slightly. “Like I told you, I heard things.”

“They were wrong.”

He touched her hair, her face, her lips. “I need to think about this.”

“Do you?” she said, looking at him steadily in the glow from the dash lights.

“Yes, I do.”

She touched his cheek with her lips. “There may not be much time.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Just a feeling.”

“One way or another,” he said, “there’ll be time.” He leaned forward and flicked on the headlights. “I’d better get you home. I don’t want your folks to raise Cain.”

“Bobby Mack,” she said, amazed again at her boldness. “Just one hug? One kiss?”

He nodded, and then held her and kissed her. And drove her home.

“That’s funny,” said Martha as they drove into the Malinowski yard four miles north of town.

“What?” Bobby Mack coasted the Samurai up near the house and turned off the lights.

“Yard light’s off. Dad just replaced the bulb last week.”

“Maybe he turned it off.”

“Never does that when he figures I’m going to be late.” She shrugged. “Maybe he expected I’d come home right after the meeting.”

“Don’t get jumpy,” said Bobby Mack, grinning. “You’re with the deputy sheriff, remember?”

“I remember.” Martha got out of the Samurai. Bobby Mack started around the front of the vehicle to meet her. The night was only a day removed from the new moon, and the darkness was deep.

“Give me your hand,” said the deputy. “I don’t want to break a leg. I figure you know the terrain.”

At the front step, Martha fumbled in her handbag for a key. “What with the zombies, Dad said he was going to start locking up at night.” Once she had key in hand, Martha leaned up toward him. “Good night, Bobby Mack.”

Whatever he was going to say was lost as they both heard the sound of something heavy, lurching and crunching in the gravel behind them. An indistinct shape loomed out of the darkness.

“GRRROARRRR!”

Clawed hands reached for him.

“Sweet Jesus!” said Bobby Mack, trying to get in front of Martha and reaching at the same time for his holstered pistol. Arms grabbed him from both sides and he was held immobile in the night. The creature in front of him staggered close and Bobby Mack smelled alcohol.

“Evenin’, Deputy Dawg.” It was Bertie Hernandez.

“Hey, man! It’s okay, it’s okay.” Billy Gaspar’s voice in Bobby Mack’s ear. “We just didn’t want you shootin’ no one.” He let loose of Bobby Mack’s right arm. Someone else set free the left.

“You bastards!” said Martha. “What are you doing?”

“Just checkin’,” said Bertie. “We’re the PDA monitors, just like in high school. Wanta make sure the neckin’ don’t go too far, unnerstand?”

Bobby Mack said angrily, “I ought to—”

“Oughtta what, college boy? Just a little joke.” Bertie turned heavily away. “Just a little joke. Okay, guys, let’s go.”

Bobby Mack started for him, but Martha grabbed his arm. “No, Bobby Mack. This isn’t the time.”

Bertie and the others were laughing uproariously by the time they piled into Billy Gaspar’s black Ford. It had been parked around the angle of the house. Billy floored the pedal and the truck whined away toward the blacktop. The night swallowed the laughter.

Bobby Mack and Martha stared after them. The deputy realized his fingers were still clamped to the flap of his holster. He took his hand away.

The yard light went on, bathing the whole area in mercury vapor glare. Mr. Malinowski stood framed in the doorway, yawning and rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Hey, you kids! What the hell’s going on out there? Some of us are tryin’ to sleep.”

Martha and Bobby Mack exchanged looks. She reached up arid touched his lips. “I’ll see you at the Diner.”

Talk at the Diner in the morning centered around two things, football and zombies. The preseason game between Denver and the Seattle Seahawks had been canceled just before kickoff. The rumors mentioned locker-room atrocities and half-devoured tailbacks.

“Musta been Seattle zombies,” said Shine Willis grimly. “’Bout the only way they could beat the Broncos.” No one contradicted him.

“Okay, ace,” said Bertie. “Listen up. I got a little question for you.”

Everyone listened up, especially Shine.

“So can animals bite you and turn you zombie?”

“You mean like dogs?” said Shine. “Get bit by Cujo? Beats the shit out of me.”

No one knew, but everyone had an opinion.

“I was wonderin’,” said Bertie, “’cause when I come out of the trailer this morning, the Jergensons’ mutt came for me and I had to put him down. He looked like he’d already been dead a couple days.”

Billy Gaspar looked glum. “Cripes, all we need is for every critter to be set against us.”

“I wouldn’t worry,” said Shine. “The Jergensons’ dog always looks like twenty pounds of shit. Probably just didn’t like your looks. You shower this morning?”

The men along the counter laughed. A bit nervously, Martha thought. She dispatched the plates of hotcakes, eggs, potatoes, bacon, toast. Poured the coffee. The real stuff. No one here drank decaf.

A rough hand gripped her wrist. The coffee pot sloshed. “No more for me,” said Bertie. “I’m tryin’ to cut down.”

“Let go,” she said.

He sat there; she stood waiting. A silent tableau. The men stared, then went back to talking. But glances kept flickering toward Martha and Bertie.

“Tipped a few with Carl Crump real late last night,” said Bertie casually. “He talks real interesting.”

“I doubt that,” said Martha. “Now let me go.”

“No.” The thick fingers did not relax. “He says you got a little mark under your left titty. Looks like a bird. That true?”

“No.” Martha switched the steaming coffeepot to her right hand. “Let me go right now or you’re going to get this all down your front.”

In the sudden silence, the radio playing John Hiatt’s “I Don’t Even Try” seemed to blare out. The men at the counter no longer pretended to look away.

“If you’ll go down for Bobby Mack,” said Bertie, “then how come you won’t do nothing for me?”

“Carl’s a liar,” said Martha evenly.