Dead and Beloved (15 page)

The clock on the stereo shows eight twelve when I finally arrive at Jessica's neighborhood. I pull around the corner and stop the car in front of her house. I'm panting and sweat is dripping into my eyes. The day hasn't been what I had expected, but I'm here. I'm alive. And I'm dizzy.

It's almost five minutes until I can see straight. A curtain in the front window moves. I know she sees me here. My fingers tremble and my hands clam up. I wipe them on my jacket. This is nothing like I've done. Not for a long time. When I was a sophomore, I went to a few dances, but it was never like this. This is Spring Prom. This is the last date of my life.

I switch off the car and everything
succumbs to an eerie silence. My heart pounds at a thundering rate, but I cannot breathe. There's no air. I open the door. The cold stings. I'm still shaking. I examine myself.

A few hours ago, this tuxedo was crisp and new. Now there are blood spots on my shirt and the sleeves are torn. I can feel a hole in the back of my pants, where the air is biting my leg. There are streaks of dark blood all the way down to my shoes.

I examine my face in the side view mirror and press my hair back before taking the nervous walk toward Jessica's front porch. With a gulp of courage, I press the doorbell and wait. The door opens and I'm facing Dr. Snow.

People have an instinct that urges them to run when they're scared. That's exactly what I want to do. Every part of my DNA—the pure essence of human survival—screams to me to flee. My enemy, Dr. Snow, is staring down at me. He's judging me, examining me with eyes that have lied to me before. I take a step backward.

“You're late,” he says, closing the door behind him and advancing toward me.

“I'm sorry, sir.” My voice shakes. “I had to find a ride.”

“Did you steal the car?”

“No, sir.” I try to appear confident, but I can't. I see the clinic and the tests and the walls. I feel the needles. I see Jessica through the window behind him; once again, we're separated by glass. “I've come to take Jessica to prom.”

“Sit down.” Dr. Snow points to a white porch swing.

My body is still telling me to run, but I don't. I obey the man in front of me. The swing rocks backward as I sit. Dr. Snow leans against the porch railing, a few feet away. He folds his arms and stares at me, searching.

“What happened to you?” he asks. There's ice in his words.

“I was attacked on the way here,” I tell him. “Someone broke my window, too.”

He glances back at the Mustang and then turns to face me again. “Your kind?”

I nod.

“I suppose you think it's my fault,” he says.

“No, sir,” I lie.

“You keep glaring at me like I'm the enemy, Mr. Moon. I'm trying to help people. I'm trying to help you in ways you don’t seem to appreciate.”

He isn't helping me, but I don't tell him.

“This dance isn’t a good idea. If I had my way, you wouldn’t be standing on my porch tonight.”

“Yes, sir,” I say. “I understand.”

“You will have my daughter home by midnight,” he tells me. Before I can respond, he's pointing at me. “At twelve oh one, I'm ordering the police to shoot you. Midnight.”

I stare at Dr. Snow. It can’t be this way. He needs to know about me. He needs to know what he’s done to the world. I swallow my fear of the man in front of me and take a chance at changing my fate. “I have a condition,” I say.

“Still making demands, Mr. Moon?”

“It’s not about me, sir. It’s about what you’re doing. It’s about the vaccine.”

For the first time, Dr. Snow seems interested in my words. His brow rises and he leans forward. “Oh?”

I take a deep breath and continue. “I don’t know what you’ve done with my blood,” I say, “but it’s no good. Whatever you’ve used it for, it won’t work.”

“And why is that?”

“I’m getting worse.”

The crease in Dr. Snow’s forehead deepens. “I’ve examined the samples, Ryan Moon. You are the one we need.”

“No!” I cut him off. “Don’t give my blood to anyone. You’re killing people,” I say. “Don’t you know what you’re doing?”

“I know exactly what I’m doing. The question is, do you?”

I’m shaking and hot. “Please, sir. For Jessica. Don’t give her the vaccine. Nothing good can come from it.”

Dr. Snow’s face reddens and his hands clench into fists. I know I’ve upset him, but I had to say what I did. I have to stop this. The world won’t end because of me.

“I know you hate me, sir. I’ve known it all along. And I don’t blame you.” I wipe away tears forming in my eyes from the pressure in my head. “I’m not good for anyone. I’m lucky to know Jessica. But I’m here, and I’m trying to do the right thing. Can’t you see I’ve been trying to do the right thing?”

The front door opens and a woman steps onto the porch. She's tall and slender with long dark hair. She could be Jessica's sister. “We’re ready,” she tells Dr. Snow. She turns to me. “You must be Ryan. I've heard so much about you. I'm Jessica's mother.”

Her smile brings an instant calm to the porch, like a fresh breeze on a hot day. Dr. Snow unclenches his fists and smiles. A smile. I never knew the man had feelings. Suddenly I’m at ease, too.

I stand and offer my hand. “It's nice to meet you.”

Her hand is cold, but soft. She takes mine gently and points to the open door. “There's an excited young woman waiting for you to take her to prom.”

I follow her, corralled by Dr. Snow from behind, and gasp when I step into the house. Jessica is there. Her dress is peach. She has sleeves that run from her wrists to her elbows and her hair is twisted into a bun, held together by tiny matching roses. She's beaming.

“Hello, Ryan.”

I stammer my greeting. “You're beautiful.”

Her mother twirls around her and presses her hair, but doesn't change anything.

“I'm glad you came,” says Jessica. She smiles again and drops her face. She’s still shy. She holds out her hands I take them in mine. Then she pulls me to her side. “My mom wants to take some pictures,” she tells me.

My face warms. I don't like pictures. And the last one of us went viral. I smile, though, and nod my okay.

My hands shake as Jessica's mother brushes off the back of my tux, straightens my sleeves, and then applies a cold washcloth to my face. I smile as Jessica locks my fingers with hers and squeezes.

There are several rounds of photos; by the fireplace, in front of the door, and standing on the steps. It feels like a thousand flashes later, but we're finally set free to leave her home. Dr. Snow doesn't speak to me again, but I keep hearing his voice repeating his condition for our date as I lead Jessica down the walk to the Mustang. Midnight.

“Thank you, kind sir,” she tells me as I open the door and help her into the seat of the car.

I smile back and take care not to catch her dress in the door before rushing to the driver's side to climb in. We sit quietly for a moment. Her breathing fills the car. I smile over at her, turn on the ignition, then with a rumble and a roar, we're off to prom.

As soon as we're out of her neighborhood, Jessica leans closer to me. “So—are you going to tell me what happened to the back window, or do I get to guess?”

I steer us onto Wasatch Boulevard and stare ahead, looking for signs of cops or zombies. “I was attacked on the way to your house,” I answer. I hold up my sleeve. “That's why my tux is torn.”

“You won't get your deposit back.”

She smiles. It's a carefree, happy grin that tells me everything is well in her world. I don't want to ruin that, don't want to ruin the night. This is the moment I wanted and the moment I need. I laugh back at her as if the joke means the same to me. But it doesn't. This feels close to the end.

“I'm surprised your parents let you come,” I say, breaking the silence that separates us. “It was strange to stand there with your dad.”

Jessica shifts in her chair and then fluffs the bottom of her dress. It makes a loud crackle, like she’s crinkling paper. I turn to look at her, long enough to stop watching the road, but too short for my wanting. She's so beautiful. For the end of my life, I couldn't ask for a more perfect image.

“What?” she asks me, suddenly conscious of my gaze.

I turn back to watch my driving. There are so many thoughts in my head that I don't know what to say. I want the night to be perfect for her. “You're perfect,” I tell her. “Thank you for coming.”

She blushes again and smiles. “It's going to be a wonderful night.

We spend the next twenty minutes talking about what's happened since our last visit. She knew about my bodyguard attack and is shocked when I won't tell her the gory details.

“I want to know,” she insists, playfully smacking my shoulder with her fist.

I hide my wince, but her hit hurt me. She doesn't know it's the shoulder I dislocated.

“Tell me.”

So I tell her about the fight in the hall.
I tell her how Brooks attacked the girl at my school and how fighting him was the hardest thing I've ever done. I think again about Tyson and what I saw in the street earlier. I stop talking.

“It's okay,” says Jessica. “You're not grossing me out, or anything.”

I shake my head. “It's not that.” I turn to her. “The Virus has gotten worse. It's been bad at my hospital. They've been shooting zombies the last few days.

“I know,” she says. “They were expecting some problems. My dad says it'll be over soon, though.”

“He's wrong,” I tell her. “The new zombies are stronger, more violent than before. I know because I—”

“You what?” Jessica flies forward as I slam on the brakes. Her seat belt locks and keeps her from crashing through the windshield, but her head whips violently.

We're less than an inch from the car in front of us.

“Are you okay?” I ask, shifting out of gear. I look over at her for a second, then scan the road ahead to find out why traffic has stopped.

Jessica holds her forehead. “What happened?”

It's too dark and the oncoming lights are blinding me. “Traffic's stopped. Something's wrong.” I release my seat belt and open my door. “Stay here.”

“Ryan, it's probably—”

“Stay in the car.”

I swing the door wider and step onto the road. My heart is racing again. I have a suspicion what the problem is but don't want to say anything. Ahead of us, honking and swerving headlights announce what I fear. I scramble back into the car and flip it into reverse.

“Ryan, what's wrong?”

I don't answer. Instead, I shift into first and squeal into the oncoming traffic.

“Ryan!”

“We have to get out of here.” I'm barely breathing as I'm swerving to miss a truck. “Look for a side street.”

Jessica is gripping the edge of her seat. Her face is white. “You're on the wrong side of the road.”

“I know. I know.”

As I swerve to avoid the traffic, I wheel us around and suddenly we're spinning. Amid Jessica's screams, I hear my own voice. We’re out of control. I've hit the brakes but we're still moving. Then something strikes the back of the car and growls from the back window.

I press the gas again, with no idea what direction we're facing.

“Ryan!”

We're heading into a tree. I swerve to miss it and we cut across someone's lawn. I shift again, steer, and pull and we're driving down the road of a once-quiet neighborhood. The tires squeal as I take a turn. I wheel around another one, refusing to stop—not for anything, and drive far from any main road.

But the growling is gone. Jessica's eyes are wide with terror an
d she's looking at me as if I had tried to take a bite out of her arm.

“There were zombies,” I said, panting between words. “That's why traffic was stopped.”

Jessica's face goes green and I know what's about to happen. She opens her door and I hear the splatter on the pavement. I look back at the broken window that's fallen into the back seat. There's blood, but no zombie.

Jessica leans back inside. She has color in her face again. She closes her door. “I'm sorry,” she tells me.

I can't blame her for anything. “That's what I was telling you,” I say. “That's why I was late. Zombies are everywhere. They attack people in cars. They rip open doors.” I point to the back. “They break windows to get in.”

Jessica pulls a tissue from her little matching purse and wipes her mouth. “Then get us out of here.”

We're quiet the rest of the drive to the Capital. I don't know what to say, what to talk about. In my dreams of a perfect night, I had never imagined my date vomiting. Jessica is scared. She tries to hide her whimpers, but every movement outside the car makes her jump and cringe.

Finally, Jessica takes a deep breath and ends the silence. “I'm glad I'm with you, Ryan.”

I smile back. “Me too.”

“No, really,” she says. “I didn't know it was this bad outside. The news didn't mention it.”

“I think it's all been kept secret,” I say. “But people know better. There were men driving around with shotguns shooting zombies on the street.”

“Did you?”

I nod. “Only in the leg. I can't feel it.”

Jessica wipes her forehead. “I can't believe there's still a dance with this going on. With all this.”

“I'm glad there's still a dance.” I reach over and grab her hand. It's warm and comforting. “And won't this be quite a story to tell?”

Jessica smiles back at me and squeezes my fingers.

~ O ~

It seems stupid to lock the car with a busted out back window, but I do it anyway. Nurse Jennings is going to get it back sometime and I'd like her to know that I tried to be responsible. I check for my tickets and then open the door and let Jessica out of the car. This was our only ride together and I'm sure she'll never forget it.

After straightening her dress, she tucks her arm into mine and we walk toward the Capital Building.

“Ryan Moon, you look deader than ever,” says Noah as he takes our tickets. He winks at me then nods to one of the security guards at the entrance.

The guard opens the door and leads us into a wide marble hallway where plenty of students are already mingling. Jessica leaves my side and searches for a bathroom, leaving the muffled bass from the dancehall and my thoughts to keep me company.

I'm here. After all the effort, and everything I've survived the past twenty-four hours, I'm finally here. The moment seems surreal and I think that if this is a dream, it's one of my favorites. Around me are faces and shiny shoes, tuxedos and dresses, punch bowls and dessert cakes. There's a crowd of girls near the restrooms and a line of boys waiting helplessly for their dates to return.

I see Adam Turner. He's with a group of sophomores and their dates. I'm certain he didn't tell them what he did for me and Jessica, so I nod a thank you at him and wink before they notice.

The wait lasts forever as I'm left listening to the clatter of heals and watching the countless tuxes escort their dates into the dance hall. As more students shuffle in, I'm waved to and even complimented, though too many concerned gazes reveal that people are worried how I look. I don't care. They don't know what it took for me to get here. And I'm with Jessica.

When she finally breaks free from the crowd around the bathroom entrance, she's as radiant as before. She earns a lot of glances and plenty of stares. There are gasps when she grabs my arm and kisses me on the cheek. I'm grinning now. No, I'm beaming. My cheeks tighten and I escort her through into the darkened hall where the music plays.

I had dreamt about this moment; I had wondered what the reaction would be when the students saw me with that girl from the picture—when the two of us revealed to the world that our affection could overcome the cruelties of perception. Jessica walks with me, as regal as a queen, and commands the attention of everyone nearby. There aren't whispers or gossip, only smiles and hellos. She's instantly famed and I'm lucky to be a part of the procession. This is better than any dream.

“Where did you get that dress?” asks Caylee Mace. She's the first to approach us and beams with excitement while Jessica tells her about shopping for the gown.

Tim Patrick, her date, slaps me on the shoulder. He doesn't have to speak. The slap says everything. It tells me that the woman makes the man and Jessica's done more for me than any lawyer, or lawsuit, or photo ever could. His slap lets me back into the club that I lost two years ago when I became infected. One motion of his hand and I'm no longer the monster that sent people scrambling for exits when I returned to Viewmont High. I smile back, silently knowing that it's probably a one night membership.

While we mingle for a while, I feel the room start to spin. It's an odd sensation combined with the music. I wonder if this is what it's like to hallucinate. I'm not nervous or anxious; it's the Virus affecting me. The flesh under my bandages arm is burning. I keep checking my arm and pressing my fingers against my neck to see if there's any blood. Jessica notices and excuses us from the group and then pulls me to the dance floor.

“You don't look so good,” she tells me. “How about a dance?”

I want to dance with her and the sensation of wrapping my arms around the girl of my dreams completes the fantasy. I am in a dream. I must be. Because the smell of her hair and the feel of her waist is too perfect.

“What are you thinking?” she asks.

“This is the best night of my life,” I answer. “There's nothing better than this.” I brush her hair aside and kiss her on the forehead. “It makes everything worth it.”

We whisper and chat as the song spins to another and then a third. I'm squeezing her now, refusing to release the one thing that's kept me going for months now. While the lyrics call for love, the reality of my fate takes firm hold on the back of every thought. Finally, the dizziness and the heat are too much for me. I break away and lead Jessica back toward the hall.

“I'm thirsty,” I tell her. “Would you like a drink?”

The berry slush is cold down my throat and I shiver, though it feels refreshing. Jessica takes a sip from her cup and looks up at me. She's smiling and her big eyes are enchanting. I feel my face warm again.

“What?” I ask. “Am I bleeding?”

She shakes her head but doesn't look away. “No,” she says. “You look different tonight.”

I shrug and try to turn, but she sets down her cup and presses her hands against my chest. “No, it's a good look.” She brushes a strand of hair away from my face. “I can see your future in your eyes,” she tells me. “There's joy—pure joy—and something else.”

I shift my weight from foot to foot. Jessica is smart, but she doesn't know the truth, yet.

“I need to tell you something.” My voice cracks as I force the words.

Jessica's smile grows. “Tell me.”

I grab one of her hands and lead her to a corner of the hall. “It needs to be private,” I say. “No one can know.” I weave us through groups of mingling kids, stopping only to acknowledge a hello or compliment. It takes longer than I want, but we're finally in a corner, partly hidden by a plastic tree.

She's still smiling, though, which makes my stomach twist with uneasiness. How do you tell someone you'll never see them again? How do you explain what I have to explain? Tears well up in my eyes and I have to take a breath to keep from passing out.

“It's okay, Ryan,” she says to me. She wraps her arms around my waist and sways me with the music. “I'm not afraid.”

“There's nothing left for me,” I say, forcing the words from my gut. “This dance is the last I'll ever know.”

Jessica is still watching me. She's not smiling, but she isn't crying or sad. Her face gives me courage.

“I'm getting worse.” I gulp as the words catch in my throat. “The Virus is getting worse. To come here—”

I can't continue. I turn away to wipe my face with my sleeve, but Jessica turns with me. She lifts her arm and wipes my cheek with her sleeve.

“I'm here, Ryan.” She presses her lips to mine and kisses me. Her lips taste like strawberries. “This is the night we'll have forever—remember?”

I nod. It's hard to act tough when the world is ending. I'm glad I chose a corner to keep it private. A new song starts. It's one of my favorites. I smile as the first words begin.

“You like this song,” she says to me. “You told me once.”

I told Jessica a lot of things.

She pulls me out from behind the tree. “Let's dance some more.”

The music takes the edge off and before the song ends, I'm feeling better and smiling. Jessica is an amazing dancer and every time she swerves and moves into me I want the moment to last forever. A crowd is in the party now. We're surrounded by some friends but mostly people we don't know. All of us are moving, singing to the music, and laughing. There's so much excitement, so much adrenaline, so many people that I don't care that I'm dizzy. I don't care that my hands tremble when I'm not holding Jessica's. My only worry is that I don't fall down when I try to spin again.

We alternate dance partners. Everyone wants to dance with Jessica and the only ones who mind are the pouting dates of her next partner. Not wanting to be left alone, I seize the opportunity and dance with a couple girls I haven't spoken with since my sophomore year.

I'm hot, I'm sweating, and I know the night is passing but I don't care. I'm having so much fun and Jessica's enormous grin tells me she is too. A song comes on that no one is interested in, so our giant roaming crowd of dancers breaks into several small groups. Jessica pulls my hand and leads me to the edge of the hall.