chapter Seventeen
I love my parents. Despite all the horrible--albeit true-- things I say about them, I love them dearly. Some of my fondest memories include them: my first Barbie doll, my first CD player, cash under my pillow when I lost a tooth, my first CD, my first trip to Six Flags, cash for every other trip to Six Flags, cash for more CDs, my first miniskirt, my first pair of heels, my first car. And while I had not yet received said car, I was expecting them to come through with one by the time I graduated. A royal blue Mustang convertible. Their demise would greatly hinder the prospect of that ever happening. So the pain of walking into our living room and finding them dead, or undead, would be almost too much to bear.
I peered into the living room. There they were: Dad, Mom, and Dirk, staring dazedly at a documentary on the Discovery Channel. A gob of bloody flesh hung from Dirk's lips.
"How could you!" I said loudly. Slowly, three heads swiveled in my direction. Three sets of eyes stared at me with distant, faraway looks.
"Mmmmmph," said Dirk.
And then to my surprise, my mother spoke. "Is something wrong, dear?"
Huh? It didn't make sense. Zombies can't talk. Can they? It was then that I saw Dirk's hand snaking into a bucket of fried chicken that rested on the couch between him and my father. He pulled out a thigh and bit into it with gusto. "Mmmmmph," he said again.
I shook my head. "Umm r no," is all I could muster.
All attention went back to the TV. It wasn't bloody flesh I'd seen hanging from Dirk's lips, but greasy fried chicken. A careful look into my parents' eyes revealed they weren't un-dead at all. The catatonic state I'd found them in was their typical catatonic state. This was how they spent most evenings, sitting zombie-like in front of the boob tube. Dirk had wandered in because he smelled the chicken, and he didn't bite them because .,. he assumed they were already zombies.
"Hmm," my father grunted at something that happened on the TV.
"Hmm," Dirk replied. He reached for another piece of chicken.
I was engulfed by a wave of hope as I observed Dirk seated on the sofa between my parents. He wasn't attacking them. They had no idea he wasn't anything but a normal, hungry teenager. Perhaps there was a chance for romance after all. Maybe Dirk would have the all-important first dance with me at the Winter Dance. And maybe, just maybe, he would be able to find the restraint to take me into his arms and kiss me without killing me.
I sighed. It was a tall order.
There were four weeks left in the semester, and I still didn't have an idea for the Holiday Pageant.
I have always loved the holidays. It is my favorite time of year. Roving bands of carolers roaming the streets of our town during the winter evenings, bringing cheer to all. When I was old enough to realize the carolers were all students from Salesian High, I told myself that when I attended Salesian I would become a caroler, too.
You can't imagine my joy when the announcement for carolers came during my freshman year. Twelve of us showed up that first day. A good-sized group. I envisioned us bundled up in our winter gear, singing together, laughing together, exchanging holiday gifts. Then Amanda Culpepper swept in, clutching the sign-up sheet. Upon seeing the group, she frowned.
"Oh, my. There's more of you than I expected." Her eyes pored over us, stopping occasionally as she pinched up her nose and twitched her head as if we all smelled.
"There were sixteen of us last year," a boy said.
"Hmm, really," Amanda responded, turning her gaze on the boy, eyeing him as if he were a new species she was observing for the first time.
"Yeah, but it all worked out. We just didn't sing so loud,"
"Ohhh," Amanda said, a sardonic smile on her lips. "You thought that was a question. It wasn't. It was a statement, and what it meant was, last year was last year and this year is this year." She smiled at the boy--at least her lips arched into what should have been a smile, but it was a joyless expression.
"You can't turn people away. Everyone who shows up gets to carol. It's kind of a holiday tradition at Salesian. No one has to feel left out."
Amanda stared at him for a long moment. "Oh, was that a question?" Her voice dripped sarcasm. "If it was, the answer is of course I can turn people away. I'm chairman of the Caroling Committee. And I'm starting with you."
"But-"
"You're not even in the Glee Club. And from the whiny sound of your voice, singing is not your thing."
"But-"
"That's all. Thank you for coming. And by the way, that wasn't a question, either. It doesn't require a response. All it requires is for you to leave."
Beaten and humiliated, the boy and seven others slinked from the room. I was among the seven who didn't want to be personally humiliated by Amanda, so I left before she could turn her wrath on me.
But this year was different. This year Amanda would be the one at home turning up her TV to drown out the holiday
sounds Okay, I know Amanda is a zombie who has no idea
she's not being included in the festivities. I wish she did.
"'Frosty the Snowman'? That's not a Christmas carol," Sybil said.
We were in the school's choral room, supposedly rehearsing Christmas carols, but every time I suggested the perfect song, Sybil rejected it.
"I know. But it's a happy, wintry song," I said, turning my attention back to my list.
"So is Jingle Bells.' And we're not singing that."
"Actually, I was thinking of Jingle Bells' as well."
Without responding, Sybil turned to Dirk, who sat in a corner busying himself with a pile of mystery meat left over from lunch in the cafeteria. "Dirk, do you know 'Frosty the Snowman?" she asked.
Dirk looked up at her, briefly cocking his head to one side. "Mmmph," he moaned before sticking his face back into the pile of lunchmeat.
"He doesn't know it." She turned to me and shrugged. "Sorry."
"Very funny, Syb."
"I'm not trying to be funny. His bass needs the perfect song to offset my soprano and your alto, right? I think it should be one of the carols you've been spending all your evenings teaching him."
"This is about us not hanging out lately, isn't it?"
"Don't be silly. You have a boyfriend now. No one expects you to hang out with your best friend since the eighth grade. It's just that since you've been spending so much time teaching Dirk to sing, I think we should concentrate on the songs you've already taught him. So, which ones are they?"
"Okay, Sybil. You've made your point. I've been a first-class jerk putting my relationship with a zombie ahead of my best friend..." is what I should have said.
Instead I said, "You're so selfish it's embarrassing. Here I am trying to do something nice for the community, and all you can think of is yourself." I knew I was lying. I knew I had shortchanged her. But my mouth was once again operating under its own power, and the words just flew from my lips.
"I'm selfish?" said Sybil.
"There, you admitted it!"
"You know good and well who the selfish one is here, Mar-got. You're just too stubborn to own up to it."
"Am not!" Childish, I know. But when you're caught in a lie your mind goes primal... at least mine does.
"Are too!" It appears Sybil's mind had gone primal as well.
"Am not!" I threw my song list and music sheets into the air and got in her face.
"Are too!" She didn't back down. We were nose-to-nose.
"Sybil Mulcahy, you take that back or you are off the caroling team."
"Ooh, an alto singing with a bass who screeches and groans. This is going to be the best caroling year ever. I can't wait to hear you guys caroling in front of my house."
"Forget you, Sybil."
"Too late. You're already forgotten."
Ouch.' "Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah!"
Without another word, I stormed from the room and raced down the corridor. Why couldn't I just admit I was wrong? Why couldn't I tell her I was sorry I hadn't been spending any time with her? With no other humans around I knew she had to be lonely. 1 certainly was.
Fueled by adrenaline, I raced through the school at top speed, not knowing where I was going, not caring, just needing to burn off my anger. Finally out of breath I stopped and doubled over in a coughing, wheezing jag, struggling to catch my breath.
"Mmmmmm."
The sound of a zombie. No, not one zombie, many zombies. Slowly, I lifted my head. I was standing at an intersection in the corridor--surrounded. I'd gotten so worked up I'd run from the room without my vial of fish oil or my rolled-up newspaper. I was stranded without any of my weapons against a zombie attack--totally exposed.
"Mmmmmm." Zombies came at me from all four directions. This was different from the time I'd taken on the zombies to cut Dirk from the herd. This time there was no escape route.
I took a step back. "Harumph!" The zombies behind me seemed to delight in the fact I was making it easy for them.
They reached for me. I wheeled around, striking my fake karate pose. It had no effect. They continued to close in.
"Mmmmmuhh!" The zombies to my right were reaching for me as well, their arms outstretched, their lips parted in anticipation of the feast of flesh.
"Sybil!" I found myself calling. "Sybil, I'm surrounded by zombies. Help!"
Nothing. No sound of footsteps rushing to my aid, just the slow swish-swish of zombie feet dragging closer and closer.
"I deserve this," I said out loud. "If I hadn't dissed Sybil we wouldn't have gotten into the argument, and I wouldn't be here now."
I had precious little time to feel sorry for myself. A nerd zombie dug her hand into my shoulder. Instinctively I jerked away, only to find myself in the arms of a prep zombie. His lips parted.
"I'm sorry, Sybil," 1 whispered as I prepared to join the living dead. Tears streaked my cheeks as a horde of zombie hands clutched at my arms, tugging me in all directions. I tried pulling away, but I was no match for their number, their strength. I was a rag doll, slowly being ripped to shreds.
Suddenly, two sturdy zombie hands gripped me by the shoulders from behind and began pulling me backward. Something, a bag, went over my head.
"What the... HELP!"
Darkness.
"I've got her," a zombie voice said. "Let's get out of here."
I could feel myself flying backward, f aster ... faster... faster. ...