Dawn of the Jed (12 page)

“Same thought occurred to me.”
Because we are so boyfriend and girlfriend.

“We are so … what did you say?”

“Nothing, nothing at all.”

Oh man, did I say that out loud? I have to be careful about voicing thoughts, especially stuff about feelings.

“I also saw another flyer in there. This one is a lot more interesting.”

Anna reached into her purse again and pulled out another piece of folded paper. This was yellow. She unfolded it, smoothed it out, and handed it to me.

“
SCIENCE FAIR
” the title screamed.

“What the heck? We don’t have a science fair,” I said.

“We do now. Keep reading.”

I did.

“Prepare for Pine Hollow’s first annual Science Fair May 23. Show off the
BIG BRAIN
on
YOU
! Top 5 projects win hall passes (thank you,
PRINCIPAL BUCKLEY
). Best of Show wins $50 gift card!!!! (thank you,
BURGER BUCKET
). No project too small or too smart. Sign up before May 6. Brought to you by the Tech Club, voted Pine Hollow’s coolest and most exclusive club.*”

I looked for the small type at the bottom, to explain the asterisk. There it was.

“*As voted by members of Tech Club.”

The fine quality of the paper struck me as I crumpled it.

“Wait a minute, we need to enter that,” Anna said.

“You have got to be kidding,” I said. “It’s a science fair. By the Tech Club. It’s as if the smokers held a wheeze-a-thon. You know who’s going to win.”

Anna took the crumpled paper from my hand and smoothed it out again.

“It’s not whether we win or lose,” she said. “It’s how we play the science game. And this could be the answer to all the lies being spread by that NZN whatever.”

“How so?”

“We do a zombie project. And by the time everyone sees it, they’ll know the NZN for the jerks they are.”

The last time I worked with Anna on a project, it led to Robbie believing he had been turned into a zombie. I liked our track record.

“OK, just one question,” I said.

“What’s the project?”

“Yup, that’s the question. Do you have the answer, too?”

“Not sure yet. I have a few ideas. You think on it too.”

The bell rang and everyone stood as one. Except, that is, for the overachievers, who were normally done with lunch before everyone else so they could arrive early to class.

They were still at the table as I ducked into the hallway. Luke with them.

What the heck?

I texted Luke.

Jed: Lunch later?

It was Saturday morning, and seeing Luke with the overachievers still bothered me. The only thing he had in common with them was that he did possess a brain. He just didn’t use it nearly as much.

The overachievers tended to bunch together, and for good reason. It’s the nature of prey when survival instincts kick in.

Imagine a nice afternoon on the African savannah and the zebras are enjoying themselves by the waterhole. Suddenly a few lions saunter by, checking out what’s on the all-you-can-chase-down menu. Why look, the special of the day is striped.

As soon as the zebras notice the picnic has turned into a buffet, they cluster into one giant black-and-white amoeba. The lions don’t even know where to start, until inevitably one zebra makes a break for it. That’s why it’s survival of the fittest, and not the guy who thinks he’s the fastest.

The same can be seen among nerd packs during dodgeball. They collapse in on one another like, say, a neutron star (brainiacs understand this). They believe themselves safe in this impenetrable grouping. But they do not understand the science. They have created a black hole of nerds, sucking in every dodgeball in the gym. They are so dense that not even common sense can escape.

That thinking extends to their behavior in the wild (specifically, the cafetorium). They line up as one, sit as one, eat as one. They do not allow outsiders, especially predators.

Well, Luke isn’t much of a lion. Mostly a plant-eating giraffe, someone to be tolerated when necessary.

But he was never invited to the table. Unless there was a very good reason.

It was time to have a talk with Luke. See what was going on. Maybe even ask for his help with the science fair project, whatever that might be. I had to try to get the herd back together.

I waited twenty minutes, no answer to my text. I tried again.

Jed: U there?

I waited another ten minutes. Still nothing. Maybe he was in the shower, or just didn’t have his phone. Nah, I couldn’t remember Luke not having his phone. Even in the shower. My thumbs hovered over the screen, wondering what to—

“Hey, sport.”

I bolted upright on my bed. My heart thumped once, which was the zombie equivalent of being scared to un-death.

“Jeez, Dad, maybe a knock or something?” I said to the head poking through the doorway. “There is such a thing called privacy.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But not to kids in this house. Besides, why do you want privacy?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because it’s a basic right?”

“Not for thirteen-year-olds. Different rules apply. Talk to me again when you’re eighteen.”

“Then I should get at least 13/18ths privacy, and that means at least knocking.”

“Fine. I’m not in the mood to do math and figure out what the heck you’re talking about. I came up here to tell you about Tread. He’s digging up the yard.”

That only meant one thing.

“Does he have his tail?” I said, rising from my bed.

“What do you think?”

Tread didn’t have many annoying canine-based habits. He left bits of flesh in the carpet when he scratched. His bark was more of a low, deathly moan as if drawing his last breath (though he drew no breath at all). He curled his lips when he was happy, so he looked like he was going to rip your throat out even as you scratched behind his ears (he loved that).

But Tread’s most annoying habit was the way he misplaced his tail, and by that I mean burying it. Most times, he buried it in the same place. But not always. And every now and then he didn’t bury it at all. We found it under the kitchen table, behind the couch, and once in the laundry bin (note to future zombie-dog owners—tails are soft and fluffy after tumble-drying, but you will need to throw out any clothes in the same load).

I followed Dad to the backyard. It looked like Tread was on his, let’s see, fourth hole. This one by the elm in the corner.

“Fourteen more and we’ve got ourselves a golf course,” I said. “I vote to see where this goes.”

“And when the police call after hearing reports of a mass grave in our backyard, you’ll take care of that, right?” Dad said, reaching for the shovel we kept near the back door. “You know what you need to do.”

I took the shovel and called to Tread.

“Tread, knock it off!” I screamed. His front paws continued to toss dirt onto the pile growing higher behind his tail-free behind. “Tread!
TREAD, NO
!”

Tread bounded toward me. It never ceased to amaze me how agile he was for a terrier-undead mix. I wondered if the American Kennel Club might want to add that to their breed registry. It’s no more ridiculous than a schnauzer-poodle (I’d rather have a zombie-terrier than a schnoodle).

“Good boy, Tread.” I dropped the shovel and rubbed his ears, so I could watch his mouth curl in deathly pleasure.

Something was in his mouth. A glint of metal. His jaws clenched and there was a “
snap
.” He bit down again. Another
snap
.

Whatever it was, he was about to swallow it.

“Tread, drop it now,” I said, putting my open palm in front of his nose.

He took another bite.

“Now.”

Crunch
.

“I mean it.”

Crunch.

“Tread!” I shoved my index and middle fingers into his mouth, being as careful as I could not to poke out his teeth. There was something at the back, approaching his throat. Thin, and mostly plastic.

I maneuvered carefully, clamping it between my fingers. Once secure, I extracted it slowly, almost like pulling teeth.

“Dang, Tread, what have you been eating?” That was directed more to his breath rather than the foreign object he was intent on consuming.

It was a memory card, the kind you use in phones or cameras. I rubbed off what little dog spit was on it and held it closer.

“What’s that,” Dad said, coming up behind me.

“It’s an SD card,” I said. “You know, like from a digital camera.”

“I know what an SD card is, Jed. Just because I like to talk to people rather than spend all day Twittering on Facebook doesn’t mean I’m an idiot when it comes to tech.”

“So says a guy who just said ‘Twittering on Facebook,’ which makes no sense.”

“Where did that come from?” Dad asked.

“Tread’s mouth.”

“That part I know. I was thinking about where it was before Tread considered it a treat.”

“Not sure. Are we missing a memory card?”

“Not that I know of. Do we have memory cards?”

“Never mind. Maybe it was from one of these holes,” I said.

But which one
, I thought,
and more importantly, who did it belong to and how did it wind up in the backyard?

A closer look revealed a couple of fractures along the plastic, one of them through the metal contacts.

“I’m no expert, obviously,” Dad said. “But even a guy who doesn’t know his Twitter from his Facebook can tell that thing is fried.”

“Maybe,” I said, jamming it in my front pocket. Anna was pretty good with computer stuff. If anyone could read the card, she could. And no doubt there would be some interesting clues.

“Meanwhile, can we get back to the task at hand?” Dad said. “That means you and the shovel start forming a meaningful working relationship. Get busy and fill those holes.”

“But what about Tread’s tail?”

“So he’ll be Eeyore for a while, he’ll deal with it.”

“What’s a yee-ore?”

“Do kids not read anymore? Eeyore, the donkey who keeps losing his tail?”

“So he’s a zombie too?”

“What? No! He’s a character from classic literature. The many tales of Winnie-the-Pooh.”

“Heh heh,” I smiled. “You said ‘poo.’”

“You know what? This conversation is over. And I know what you’re getting for you birthday.”

“Poo?”

“Ahhhgggh! Just forget it.” Dad went back inside, slamming the door behind him.

Of course I knew who Winnie-the-Pooh was. I was undead, not illiterate. But it was fun messing with Dad’s mind every now and then.

But it was time to get back to the task at hand.

“Tread, where’s your tail?” He turned and ran to the hole beneath the elm, dirt flying from underneath him. And I was surprised when he buried his snout in the hole and came up with the missing appendage.

My phone vibrated at the same time. I pulled it from my pocket and looked at the screen. It was a text from Luke.

Luke: What up?

Quite a bit, actually. But I didn’t text that.

Jed: Not much. Wanna hang.

Luke: Sure.

Jed: Now?

Luke: Gimme 5.

Jed: Mind if Tread comes along?

I waited. A minute. Two. Five.

Luke: No prob

But it clearly was a problem. Ever since Tread went from animated to re-animated, Luke kept his distance. If he couldn’t deal with it, choices had to be made.

Right now, I wasn’t sure who I’d choose: Luke or Tread.

I hoped Luke wasn’t going to force me to make that decision.

“Tread, sit.”

I rapped on Luke’s door and felt the slickness of Ooze on my forehead.
Dang
, I thought,
not now
. I’d never been nervous in front of Luke. What was happening?

I looked down at the gray dog standing beside me.

Standing?

“Tread, sit.”

I didn’t hear anything coming from inside. Normally Luke’s mom and dad had old-people music playing, the kind that resulted in old people dancing. Out of respect for Luke, I always made sure I didn’t look, but he was still pretty humiliated.

“Tread, sit.”