Zomburbia (20 page)

“It's something you used to do?”

“Yeah,” Sherri said, “we'd find a group of shufflers and we'd run through them and touch one or two. They're so slow and stupid that if you do it right, you'll be past them before they even notice you.”

He looked like he was going to throw up. “You're kidding me.”

“Don't be a dick, Brandon,” Sherri said.

“Sherri, cut it,” I said. “Brandon, we have to get around those zombies, right?”

He nodded slowly, like he was trying to convince himself that wasn't the case.

“Right. Well, running through them has a couple of purposes.”

“Like what?”

“One: it gets us past them a lot quicker. If we tried to sneak around them, it'd take us a couple of hours to work our way through to Buddha's apartment, and we'd still have to get through them anyway. Second: it helps you not be so afraid of them. The adrenaline kicks in, your senses sharpen.”

“Sharp senses,” Sherri agreed.

“You get this amazing rush and then, when you're past them, you wonder what ever made you afraid of them.” I could feel myself smiling at the memory of Sherri and me doing this. It wasn't a regular thing. We'd only done it a dozen times or so since we'd been allowed out by ourselves.

“This is so stupid,” Brandon said.

“That means you've decided to do it,” I said. All of my anger at him from earlier had died down. It wasn't gone completely, but I could ignore it at least. Quick, before I was able to convince myself not to, I leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You're going to love it!”

It looked like that had been the right move. He blushed like crazy, but he looked determined now. He started to jump up and down and take really deep breaths. That must have been some sort of football player psyche-up thing. Whatever it took.

Sherri rolled her eyes at me and made kissy lips. I was grateful she didn't say anything.

“Okay, gang, listen up,” I said, and then I told them the plan for getting into Buddha's building. We needed to start out silently, no yelling, or screaming, as the case may be. The zombies couldn't know we were there until we were actually running through them. We couldn't bunch up, but we had to stay together, too, since we'd have to get inside the lobby. I had a key card and it would be best if we all got there at the same time so we could all go inside together. Once we were in the lobby, we'd be safe. The glass was all reinforced and the shufflers wouldn't be able to break it. Once we all piled into the elevator, they'd stop trying to get inside.

“The elevator works?” Brandon asked.

“There's a generator in the basement. Everyone ready?”

We all were or, at least, we said we were.

“Let's wild-bunch it,” I said, and we started off.

At first we all jogged along. Easy, like we were starting our morning run or something. But the steep hill made it easy to gain speed. That was good, I wanted a lot of momentum by the time I hit the first of the zombies. Halfway down the hill, and I could already feel my heart beating against my chest and my breath was starting to burn. Too soon. I stopped breathing through my nose and started gulping in air through my mouth. It sounded ragged. I stole quick glances to the side to make sure we were still grouped together. Sherri was a little behind me and Brandon was a little ahead.

Another few yards and we'd be in the knot of undead. Sherri, behind me, was the first one to let out a whoop. A high, piercing war cry. I thought maybe she did it to help ease the pain in her lungs—if she was feeling anything like I did, anyway. I let out a high screech.

Brandon hit the first zombie, a shoulder check that knocked the damned thing off its feet and sent it flying. He gave out this guttural shout that scared me more than the zombies did. He barely slowed down as he kept running toward the building.

I was a lot less effective. I reached out and slapped the back of the nearest zombie, a girl. I felt something give way underneath her clothes. I tried hard not to think about it. I gave an out-of-breath cry and kept going.

I heard Sherri laughing a few paces behind me and then I started laughing, too. I threw my whole body into the next zombie, a guy who had just started turning around. He fell into another UD and they both biffed it. I laughed harder.

I stopped laughing when I saw Brandon standing next to the entrance. He pointed at the door to Buddha's building, which stood wide open. I didn't slow down, waved him on.

“Get inside,” I tried to yell. I could barely get my breath.

I glanced back at Sherri. She was practically running up my ass, so I gave it all I had to stay ahead of her.

Brandon was pissed. He dodged inside the lobby right ahead of us.

We all stopped short. Four zombies stood between us and the elevators. The smell of rotting meat was heavy in the small space. I immediately got goose bumps up and down my arms.

“No way!” Sherri yelled between gasps.

“Close the door,” I panted.

“Close it?” Brandon asked. Then he saw what I saw. The zombies we'd run through were converging on the building. If we didn't close the doors, we'd have a lot more than four zombies to worry about.

Sherri pulled the door closed and we heard the electronic
snick
of it locking. One problem down. Next problem: The four shufflers in the lobby were onto us.

Brandon drove his shoulder into the nearest one, a rotting old man in a cardigan. The left arm of the sweater hung empty. The zombie duffer hit the ground and there was an audible cracking sound and he laid there without moving. Sweet! Brandon then picked up a lobby chair and he started swinging it around like Conan in a furniture store.

“Press the button for the elevator!” he screamed at me and Sherri because, to be honest, we were just standing there gawking at the show he was putting on.

A really fresh zombie, he looked relatively clean and I didn't see a bite mark on him, stood in the back of the room, near us and the elevators. He seemed to watch everything we were doing. As creepy as the undead are, thinking he might be watching us and planning something was off the creepiness charts.

Brandon was beating up the other two zombies with his chair. I looked around for something to hold off Genius Zombie and spotted a fire extinguisher. I hoped it still worked. I took it off the wall and started edging closer to the shuffler. I followed the instructions printed on the extinguisher and got it ready to fire.

“Sherri,” I called over my shoulder, “get ready to rush the elevator.”

“Ready when you are.”

When I was just a few feet away, the thing lunged at me, like it had been playing dead or something. He was so fast I almost forgot I had the extinguisher in my hands. I pressed the lever and a thick cloud of white chemicals shot right into the thing's face. It stumbled past me, blind, and I took a swing at it with the heavy metal cylinder. My timing was off and I barely connected with its back. All I did was send it crashing into one of the walls.

Brandon was done with his two zombies—they were on the floor, their heads broken open—and came to help me. The last zombie moved faster than anything I'd seen before. He must have been really fresh. He hit the wall and rebounded like nothing happened. He turned on us, snarling and swiping at us. Brandon held him back with the raised chair.

Behind us I heard the elevator bell ding and Sherri yelled out, “It's here!” The bell got the shuffler's attention, too, and he lunged in that direction. Brandon leaped forward and actually trapped the thing against the wall in the legs of the chair.

“Get in the elevator now!” he screamed at me, and I did what he said.

Sherri was already in there, huddled against the back wall trying to make herself as small as possible. I scooted in next to her.

“Get ready to press the C
LOSE
D
OOR
button.” Brandon yelled. I remembered hearing once that the C
LOSE
D
OOR
button doesn't actually do anything, elevator makers just put it in there because people like to press it; they'd complain if it wasn't there. I did not bring that up to the guy currently holding off a snarling, flesh-eating monster.

“Come on,” I said.

I could tell it was taking everything Brandon had to hold the zombie against the wall. His arms strained and his cheeks were a really frightening shade of red. As soon as I told him we were ready, he nodded and I heard him count to himself, psyching himself up.

“One . . . two . . . ,” he took a deep breath, “three!” He whipped the chair away and then, as soon as the zombie lunged forward, he pushed the chair legs right into the thing's face. The zombie stumbled and Brandon used that momentum to throw it to the floor. Then he hightailed it to the elevator.

I started pressing the C
LOSE
D
OOR
button like a freaking lab rat looking for a fix and Brandon sprinted through the slowly closing doors and nearly crushed Sherri in the process.

It felt like the doors barely moved. Glaciers moved faster. I could see beyond the doors as the zombie threw the chair off him and then got to its hands and knees. I swear to God the thing shook its head like it needed to clear it, and then it looked up at us and snarled, pissed. It got to its feet and stood there for a second and bellowed at us. I nearly jumped out of my skin. I'd never heard a zombie make a noise like that. Then it charged.

It hit the doors just as they closed and for a second I thought the stupid things were going to open. Then I felt the elevator shudder as it started to rise. I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding and I slumped back against the wall. I took a minute to try to get my heart rate back down.

We were all silent as we rode up. Finally Brandon looked from me to Sherri and asked, “You know what would make counting coup more fun? A
shotgun
!”

Our laughter sounded forced and almost like screams. We had to laugh, though—if we didn't we'd probably start crying or maybe just lose it altogether and go catatonic. Our laughter faded away and we rode the rest of the way up in silence. The elevator bumped to a stop on the penthouse level. We collected ourselves as best we could.

As we walked into the short hallway outside Buddha's apartment, Sherri said to Brandon, “Okay, Captain Kick-ass, you can hang out with us anytime you want.”

He looked weirdly proud at that.

“Ditto,” I said.

The hallway outside the apartment had only two doors, one on either side. Back in the day there had been two apartments on this floor. Since Buddha became the sole occupant, he knocked out the walls and now lives in one huge apartment. It's pretty badass.

Brandon and Sherri stood behind me as I stopped in front of one of the doors. I was having second thoughts about this, then I guessed we'd come this far. Too late to start being smart about things.

I went ahead and knocked.

B
uddha opened the door and a big grin broke across his craggy face. “My favorite mule!” he said, and then he saw Sherri and Brandon and he put the grin back wherever it came from. “And who do we have here, Courtney?”

“Can we come in, Buddha? We just had to deal with a bunch of zombies down in the lobby.”

“Son of a bitch!” He turned and stormed off. The door stood open so I shrugged and marched in. I figured he'd have closed it if he wanted us to stay out. When I was inside, I turned to see my lame-o friends still standing in the hallway. I waved them in and gave them my best eye roll.

Deeper into the apartment, I heard Buddha screaming at someone. He must have been on the phone. He had some of his goons living in the apartments below his, and there was a chemist or two in a lab he kept on a lower floor. He never liked to have any of them come up to his personal apartment.

“Wow, now I want to grow up to be a drug dealer,” Sherri said as she and Brandon followed me into the living room and sat on couches. I knew what she meant. Buddha had every wall he could knocked down, and then he filled the place with all the cool art and furniture he could get his goons to scrounge up. I heard that armed parties of them went through all of the abandoned houses in the hills behind the apartment complex right after the city forced their owners to evacuate.

“Is it a problem that we're here?” Brandon asked. We still heard Buddha yelling at someone on the phone from the other room—his bedroom, the one enclosed space on the whole floor.

“Too late to do anything about it now,” I said.

The bedroom door opened and Buddha came out. He's tall, like six-five, and really thin. Wiry, you know. He looks like some of the wrestlers at school, though none of them have a full-on ZZ Top beard and long flowing hair—and it's gray, almost white. He looks kind of crazy in a good way. As he walked, he pulled his hair back and tied it with something.

He walked over to a bar near the kitchen area and poured himself a drink. “That's the third time in about two weeks that one of those assholes downstairs forgot to close and lock that door right.” He stood with his back to us. “I've got a bunch of guys going downstairs to clean up whatever's left behind. Sorry you had to deal with it.”

He brought his drink over to where we were. He sat next to me, across from Brandon and Sherri, and put his feet up on the glass coffee table between us. He threw his arm around me.

“I wasn't expecting you to have an entourage,” he said.

“These are friends of mine,” I said.

“I hoped you weren't bringing in some strangers off the street.” He took a swallow of the amber liquor. “Do these friends have names?”

“Sherri and Brandon.” Sherri gave a tiny wave.

“Great.”

“They call you Buddha, right?” Brandon asked.

“Yep.”

“But that's not your name, right? That's a nickname.”

“You're a sharp one,” Buddha said, still grinning. “Ma and Pa Schreibstein did not name their baby boy Buddha. But it's what you can call me.”

“Why ‘Buddha'?”

“Brandon, what the hell?” I asked. I didn't understand why he was pushing this.

“It's okay,” Buddha said, and he patted my knee to reassure me. I saw Brandon bristle at that. “Why Buddha?” he asked, and leaned forward. “Well, it was given to me by my friends when I was younger.”

“Yeah, but why?” Brandon asked again, despite my trying to will his damned head to explode. “There's always a reason for the nicknames people give out.”

“You're right,” Buddha said, “sure. Well, I guess there's only two reasons someone could get the nickname ‘Buddha. ' One, you are a serene, peaceful person who'd never hurt a soul, just like the Bodhisattva. Or, two, you're not.”

When he spoke next, he tapped a gnarled finger on the glass of the tabletop. “Which do you think was my case, son?” Buddha leaned back and spread his arms along the back of the couch. “So, why'd you bring your friends, Courtney?”

I pulled the envelope with his money out of my bag and handed it to him. “First things first, I guess.”

He took it from me and got up. He headed back to his room. “Get everybody some drinks. I'll be back in a minute.”

As soon as the door clicked shut I turned on Brandon. “What is your problem?” I hissed at him.

“What?” He had the balls to look innocent.

“Getting into a pissing contest with him about his freaking nickname? What is that?”

“I was just curious.”

“That stuff about his nickname,” I said as I stood up, “that's true. I've heard stories from his guys about him.”

“He doesn't scare me,” Brandon said.

“Then you're way dumber than I thought,” said Sherri, “and that's pretty dumb.”

I stomped over to the bar and fished some sodas out of the mini-fridge. Brandon refused to look me in the eye as I walked back to the couch and sat down. Which made me even madder because I was trying to give him my best glare the whole time. I set my soda down next to me on the couch and handed one to Sherri. I took the last can and shook it for a good while before I handed it to Brandon. Sherri snorted laughter. Brandon just looked at the can for a second before he said, “You know, no matter how bad you shake them up, if you just let modern Coke cans sit for about ten seconds, they won't spray.” And he set his can down on the table.

“Just stop being a dick,” I said to him.

Buddha came back into the room and sat down.

“Thanks, Courtney,” he said. “So, what was the other reason you came over today?”

I didn't answer. I found that when it was time to actually come right out and say it, I couldn't ask him to get us high. I'd made a point of never using up to this point. Part of it was that a lot of people said using Vitamin Z just once could make you an addict—in public, I told everyone I thought that was bull. The truth was that I really did believe it. The other part was that I thought people who did use were huge F'ing losers. Everyone I'd ever sold to looked like scum and trash to me. I never felt bad that I was selling them this potentially dangerous drug because I didn't care about them at all. So, given that, how the hell was I supposed to ask Buddha to fix us up?

I looked at Sherri. She avoided my eyes. No help there even though it was her idiot idea. I could feel Buddha staring at me. I cleared my throat.

“We want to know if you'll get us high,” Brandon said. I looked up and he was looking right at me. “With the Vitamin Z.”

Buddha looked slowly from Brandon to me. “Is that right, Courtney?” he asked. When I nodded, he said, “I have to admit that that surprises me. I thought you were dead set against it.” He scratched his head. “You know, time was I required my sellers to get high with me. But, like I said, I was a different creature then. So, I'll ask again: Is this what you want?”

I nodded. “Yeah,” I said.

Buddha didn't answer for a while. Again he looked back at Brandon and I wanted to scream at him,
Stop looking at him, this was my decision!
But I kept my mouth shut.

“Right,” Buddha said quietly, and stood up. “If you'll excuse me, I have to go into my room again.” He walked away, then stopped. “I'll bring a pipe, okay? None of you look like you'd be very needle-friendly.” And then he disappeared into the room and the door closed behind him.

“It is what you wanted, right?” Brandon asked.

“Of course it is,” I snapped at him. I wasn't done being mad at him yet.

“Just checking.”

“I'm having second thoughts,” Sherri said.

“It's probably a little late for that,” Brandon said, and just then I really hated him. Hated how calm he was, hated how he didn't seem afraid of Buddha like he should have been. I hated him because he was there in Buddha's apartment with me. No one I liked should ever have been in there.

“It feels too late for a lot of stuff,” I said. Even as I said it, I regretted it. It felt petty and too dramatic. Neither of them reacted, probably too wrapped up in their own worries and fears to notice I was a lame-ass. So, that was good.

Buddha came out again and headed over. He had a small box in one hand and a big brick-shaped thing wrapped in plastic in the other. He handed me the brick as he sat down.

“For you,” he said. “'Cause I might forget once we get going.”

I hefted the bulk of Vitamin Z in my hand. This brick would probably earn me another $5,000, even with what I owed Buddha and other operating expenses. I stowed it away in my bag.

Buddha opened his box. It was felt-lined and inside was a metal pipe, a tiny bag of Z, and a pretty big bag of weed. He set everything on the table and then opened the bag of pot.

“Marijuana?” Brandon asked. “Are we gonna smoke that first?”

“Smoke 'em together,” said Buddha as he loaded a hit into the pipe. “Some people smoke it straight, but they're pretty far gone. Junkies who can't get a hit otherwise. Get it?”

Brandon nodded. “Is it really made out of zombie brains?”

“You sound nervous, all these questions.” He didn't look up from what he was doing.

Brandon swallowed hard and nodded. “I guess I am. I heard using just once can make you addicted.”

“That's really rare,” I said. I hoped I didn't sound too much like I was trying to convince myself.

“That's right,” Buddha said as he went back to loading the pipe. “You're both right. It happens. It's rare, but it happens.” He zipped up the bag of pot and set it in the box, then he took up the bag of Z and popped it open. He took just a few grains and sprinkled them on top of the weed in the pipe. “And to answer your original question: Yep, it's made out of actual zombies' brains. Before you ask, it's also true that some addicts who die of overdoses come back as zombies.” He held the pipe out to Brandon. “Wanna take the first hit?”

Brandon just sat there and didn't make a move for the pipe. I told myself that if he refused, I'd refuse, too. I'd tell Buddha that we'd made a mistake and no hard feelings. I knew Buddha liked me and that he wouldn't hold it against me. I had my new supply of Z, there was no real reason for us to stick around. All Brandon had to do was turn down the pipe and we could leave.

Brandon reached out and took it out of Buddha's hands. My heart sank. “Where's the fire?” he asked.

“Oh, right,” Buddha said, and he dug a battered old Zippo out of his pocket.

I turned away as Brandon took the lighter and raised the pipe to his lips, so I didn't see him take a hit, but I heard his explosive cough a few seconds later. Buddha chuckled. “Open up that Coke and take a swig,” he said. “It'll help the burn in your throat.”

There was the pop/fizz sound of the can being opened and then Brandon's cough subsided a little. Sherri took the next hit; she handled it better than Brandon, holding the smoke for a good fifteen or twenty seconds before she let it out in a thick stream.

Then it was my turn. I picked up the pipe in my left hand, the lighter in my right. I was about to light it up when Buddha stopped me.

“Let me charge that up.” He took a few more grains of Z and sprinkled them on top of the charred pot. “Okay, go for it.”

Brandon sat back on the couch, his arms relaxed at his sides. He smiled at me and his eyes were already glassy. Sherri wouldn't look at me; she stared at a string of hair she held in front of her eyes and twirled. No help from either of them. So I forced a smile, took up the pipe, and took a big toke. I'd smoked pot a few times, and this was just like that—the harsh, acrid smoke attacking the back of my throat. There was something else to it, too. A sweetness flooded my tongue. All I could remember was reading once that human flesh smelled sweet when you cooked it. I started to gag, which triggered a cough. I held it together and kept most of the smoke in my lungs.

Even before I exhaled the whole hit, I felt a pleasant coolness spreading through my brain. It started in the back of my head—in my lizard brain—and it crept like fog up to the front. My mouth was instantly dry and I immediately picked up my own soda after I handed the pipe and lighter off to Buddha.

He took a large pinch of black powder out of the bag and grinned at me as he threw all of it on top of the cinder in the pipe. I smiled back and surprised myself because I could tell it was a genuine smile. All the anxiety I'd felt before melted away. My body relaxed, too, molding itself to the couch. It felt good.

Buddha sucked on the pipe, a startling sound because he sucked so long and deep. My lungs ached a little thinking about it. Then he let fly with a monstrous stream of smoke. He looked like a dragon—it went on and on. When he was finally done, he set the pipe and lighter on the table and grinned at me again.

“It's nice to see you relaxed, Courtney,” he said. “You're usually so uptight all the time.” He put his hand on my knee and rubbed his thumb around in a little circle. It felt nice.

“Hey,” Brandon said, “that's my sort-of girlfriend you're groping, Buddha.” But there was no anger in his voice. He wore a dopey grin and could barely lift his arm to point at us.

Buddha laughed and raised his hands in mock surrender. “Right,” he said, “right. We need some music.” He stood up and walked over to the stereo. He didn't wobble at all. I knew that if I stood up just then, there was a good chance I'd fall flat on my face.

“This is nice,” Sherri said, and she finally smiled, too. “This isn't so bad.”

“This?” Buddha asked. “This is just the pot. Give it a few minutes and you'll feel the Z kick in.” Brandon and Sherri nodded in unison at that and I noticed after a second that I was doing it to. I laughed out loud and they both giggled, although I'm sure they had no idea why.